ac 


EIizalDeih  Eglesion-Hinrnan 


u 


NAYA 


'Dougal", 


in    kilts,   cap   and  dirk   of    the   Scottish    Highlanders 
entered  to    the  sound    of  the    bagpipe. 


A   Story  of  the  Bighorn 
Country 


BT 


ELIZABETH  EGLESTON-HINMAN 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 

F.    DE   FOREST   SCHOOK 


/<^ 


RAND  McNALLY  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO        NEW  YORK        LONDON 

1910 


••".;.•••;.••:•...•■:  I. .:/.••.•..• 


Copyright.  1910,  by 
Rancl,  McNally  &  Company 


Chicago 


To  F— 

in  memory  of  childhood  days 

when  we^  on  Pigeon,  raced  the  prairie  winds 

and  had  not  yet  sought  The  Road 


9C9907 


THE  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.            .        .        . I 

II 14 

III 25 

IV 40 

V 59 

VI 75 

VII.        104 

VIII 116 

IX.     , 139 

X 172 

XI 197 

XII 225 

XIII 237 

XIV 266 

XV 287 

XVI 312 

XVII 324 


THE   ILLUSTRATIONS 


"dougal,  in  kilts,  cap,  and  dirk  op  the 
Scottish  Highlanders,  entered  to  the 
SOUND  OP  THE  BAG  PIPE" Frontispiecc 

"A  Shadow  fell  athwart  the  Painted  Wig- 
wam,   AND     ALL     EYES     TURNED     TOWARD 

Crystal  Stone,     who   stood   awaiting 

her  father's  pleasure" Facing  page      8 

"The  child  rent  her  envelope  and  slowly 

READ  the  letter" "  "  2^ 

**A  DARK  SINISTER  FACE  WAS  PRESSED  AGAINST 
the  pane,  glowering  at  her  with  WILD 
eyes" «*  *'         96 

"White  Buffalo  lifted  her  up  again,  this 

TIME  in  front  of  HIM" '*  **        238 

"She  looked  down  upon  the  home  she  was 

TO  LEAVE  SO  SOON"  "  "        299 


NAYA 


CHAPTER  I 

Oh!  Snatched  away  in  beauty's  bloom, 

On  thee  shall  press  no  ponderous  tomb; 

But  on  thy  turf  shall  roses  rear  their  leaves,  the  earliest  of  the 

year, 
And  the  wild  cypress  wave  in  tender  gloom. 

Byron — Hebrew  Melody. 

Long  ago,  when  the  Indians  of  the  North 
still  knelt  in  credulous  and  silent  awe  before  the 
flashing  fires  of  the  "Northern  Lights/'  seeing 
therein  the  dancing  spirits  of  their  slain  war- 
riors, a  white  man,  young  and  courageous,  came 
to  live  in  their  country  of  phantom  mountains 
and  sweeping  prairies. 

He  was  only  a  boy,  in  fact  scarcely  twenty 
summers  crowned  his  years,  but  a  restless  albeit 
gentle  spirit  had  ever  swept  him  into  adventures 
and  enterprises  which  set  him  apart  as  something 
startling  in  the  little  English  village  where  he 
dwelt. 


•  t  '  ' 


#»•«•«        « 


NAYA 

After  the  thunderbolt  of  his  determined  de- 
parture into  that  vast  abysm  of  scalping  savages 
and  manifold  dangers,  America,  the  dismayed 
family  returned  to  their  traditional  occupations, 
— the  father  to  dream  among  his  books  in  the 
dingy  old  library,  the  older  brother  merely  to 
v^onder  anew  at  the  rashness  of  the  younger, 
while  the  patient,  loving  mother  plucked  the 
Canterbury  bells  and  gold  of  Ophir  roses  in  the 
silent  old  garden,  as  she  had  done  from  time 
immemorial. 

Far  over  the  sea  William  Dunsmuir  led  a 
life  quite  different  from  the  one  he  had  left. 
Gradually  working  his  way  to  the  northwest,  he 
became  associated  with  one  of  the  great  fur 
companies  which  in  the  late  50's  pursued  an  ex- 
tensive trade  in  that  remote  and  beautiful  region. 
Somewhat  later  the  rapid  development  of  the 
mining  industry  also  greatly  absorbed  him,  and 
with  these  two  interests  he  roamed  the  trackless 
forest  and  followed  the  great  rivers  in  the  free 
breathing  independence  that  was  the  chief  char- 
acteristic of  his  nature.  Occasionally  he  took 
the  fascinating  voyage  down  the  Missouri  to  the 
thriving  city  of  St.  Louis,  and  never  forgot  to 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

dispatch  a  part  of  his  abundant  revenue  to  those 
he  had  left  in  far-away  England. 

The  life  was  perilous,  for  it  was  the  land  of 
the  resentful  Blackfoot,  who,  perceiving  the 
rivers  and  plains  fast  diminishing  in  his  chief 
sustenance,  turned  a  defensive  hand  against 
every  invasion  of  the  white  man.  Often  had 
Dunsmuir  been  robbed,  often  had  he  escaped 
with  his  life  alone,  but  finally,  through  a  singu- 
lar happening,  he  came  to  their  fireside  and  was 
honored  with  the  pipe  of  peace  and  friendship. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  vast  region  which 
the  Blackfeet  held  in  supreme  and  successful 
defiance  of  all  other  Indian  tribes  lived  their 
bitter  enemies,  the  Crows,  with  whom  they  con- 
stantly waged  ferocious  war.  In  a  chance 
encounter  of  two  hunting  parties  the  Blackfeet 
were  pushed  to  extremities  and,  in  the  confusion 
of  a  pell-mell  retreat,  being  pursued  the  while 
by  their  triumphant  victors,  they  did  not  notice 
that  the  beloved  young  warrior  Wun-nes-tou,^ 
the  son  of  their  most  powerful  chief,  was  not 
among  them.  Wild  and  mournful  were  the  la- 
mentations which  echoed  among  the  cliffs  when 
their  loss  was  discovered. 

1  The  White  Buffalo. 


NAYA 

After  a  brief  council  in  the  Painted  Wigwam 
of  the  agonized  but  stoic  father,  Peetohpeekiss,^ 
orders  were  given  that  a  runner  make  swiftly 
through  the  village,  commanding  the  braves  to 
attend  their  chief  in  the  recovery,  whether  dead 
or  alive,  of  the  young  and  royal  Wun-nes-tou. 

Over  the  timbered  ridges  carpeted  with 
needles  of  pine,  down  through  the  rocky  glades 
with  their  silvery  streams  of  tumbling  water, 
swept  the  infuriated  savages,  gorgeous  in  war 
paint  and  splendid  trappings.  After  many  hours 
they  entered  a  tiny  valley  which  the  enchanted 
brush  of  Spring  had  painted  in  undulating  folds 
of  green,  arabesqued  with  myriads  of  bright  wild 
flowers.  Just  opposite,  at  the  edge  of  the  inter- 
rupted forest,  appeared  a  solitary  horse  bearing 
an  inert  bronze  figure,  devoid  both  of  tomahawk 
and  shield,  and  whose  once  superb  crest  of  eagle 
feathers  now  drooped  broken  and  formless.  By 
his  side  walked  William  Dunsmuir,  putting  out 
an  occasional  steadying  hand  or  giving  an  en- 
couraging word  to  the  wounded  but  valiant  In- 
dian boy,  who,  on  seeing  the  advancing  band 
of  the  Blackfoot  warriors,  headed  by  his  magnifi- 
cent father,  straightened  himself  proudly,  and 

2  The  Eagle  Ribs. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

laying  one  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his  white 
friend  and  savior,  lifted  the  other  in  silent  salu- 
tation. 

Peetohpeekiss  rode  straight  to  his  side  and, 
without  attempting  to  conceal  his  joy,  took 
his  son  in  his  arms  and  kissed  the  smooth  brown 
cheek  with  the  soft,  noiseless  caress  of  the  Indian. 

The  characteristically  brief  explanations  re- 
vealed that  an  arrow  wound  had  unhorsed  the 
boy  in  a  patch  of  chaparral,  where  he  had  man- 
aged to  conceal  himself  until  the  last  faint  whoop 
of  the  pursuing  enemy  had  floated  to  him  over 
the  hills.  Then,  realizing  the  certainty  of  their 
return,  he  endeavored  to  escape,  and  had  pain- 
fully crept  to  a  spring  a  half  mile  down  the 
canon,  where  the  kind  white  brother  found  him. 
The  kind  brother  examined  the  wounded 
shoulder.  He  put  his  own  mouth  to  the  tear, 
thus  extracting  the  poison.  He  hid  him  in  the 
brush  and  gave  him  food.  Being  revived,  he 
had  asked  to  return  to  the  Painted  Wigwam  of 
his  father,  where  a  council  might  ponder  a  suit- 
able reward.  The  kind  white  brother  had  given 
his  horse  and  assistance. 

The  throng  of  attentive  warriors  nodded  and 


NAYA 

grunted  their  approval,  while  the  stately  chief 
touched  William's  hand,  a  custom  he  had  once 
observed  at  the  Fur  Company's  station,  and  said, 
"The  white  brother  must  come." 

William,  being  greatly  pleased  to  gain  the 
friendship  of  his  old  enemies,  mounted  his  horse 
and,  riding  by  the  side  of  Peetohpeekiss,  headed 
the  swarthy  army  toward  its  distant  village, 
while  the  rescued  boy  lay  on  a  stretcher  of 
buffalo  skins  and  saplings,  carried  by  four  of 
his  devoted  brothers. 

After  three  days  of  games  and  feasting  and 
general  rejoicing,  the  dignified  council  called 
their  new  friend  to  the  Painted  Wigwam  and 
asked  that  he  choose  a  gift,  either  of  ponies  or 
robes  or  weapons  of  the  chase.  His  request  both 
angered  and  amazed  them. 

It  seems,  the  break  of  morning  succeeding  his 
arrival  among  them  found  him  exploring  the 
banks  of  the  mountain  lake,  whose  many  facile 
advantages  had  d*rawn  the  encampment  to  its 
shores.  Leaving  the  yet  quiet  village  far  behind, 
he  threaded  the  jagged  boulders  and  dark  pines 
which  banded  with  somber  green  this  portion  of 
the  placid  waters.    Just  beyond  a  tangle  of  wild 

6 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

currant  whose  masses  of  yellow  bloom  filled  the 
air  with  bracing  sweetness,  he  stood  gazing  with 
delight  at  the  streamers  of  brilliant  crimson  with 
which  the  rising  sun  was  glorifying  the  world. 

He  did  not  notice  an  Indian  girl  close  by, 
who,  with  arms  full  of  the  pale  flowers,  was 
stepping  into  the  canoe  of  birch  she  had  secured 
by  a  slender  thong  of  deer  skin  to  an  overhang- 
ing alder.  She,  equally  unconscious,  dropped 
to  her  knees  and,  while  releasing  the  moored 
craft,  began  singing  the  exquisite  music  char- 
acteristic of  her  race.  At  the  first  note  William 
turned  in  breathless  wonder,  and  could  neither 
move  nor  speak,  for  the  scene,  so  rich  in  simple 
poetic  beauty,  moved  him  as  no  other  he  had 
ever  viewed.  His  intense  gaze  drew  the  maid- 
en's eyes,  whose  startled  expression  was  im- 
mediately followed  by  one  of  shy  friendliness. 
Paddling  close  to  the  rock  on  which  he  stood, 
she  looked  up  from  the  flower-laden  canoe  in 
which  she  knelt,  her  black  braids  vivid  against 
the  yellow,  and  said  earnestly,  "I  am  Eehnis- 
kim.^  My  brother  it  was  whom  thou  didst  save. 
I  thank  thee.'' 

He  could  not  answer,  so  great  was  his  inner 

iThe  Crystal  Stone. 


NAYA 

agitation,  but  he  caught  her  look  and  held  it  un- 
til the  dark  lashes  swept  downward.  Then  turn- 
ing, she  paddled  swiftly  across  the  lake  which 
lay  like  a  shimmering  delicate-hued  primrose 
in  its  fringe  of  green.  That  was  all.  His  con- 
stant watchfulness  had  not  given  him  another 
glimpse  of  her. 

So,  when  the  chief  put  his  question  to  Wil- 
liam, he  received  the  clearly  spoken  answer,  "I 
wish  to  wed  your  daughter  Eehniskim."  The 
general  consternation  was  finally  overcome  by 
the  young  man's  decisive  and  eloquent  allusion 
to  the  service  he  had  rendered  the  Blackfoot  na- 
tion in  restoring  its  hereditary  chief,  and  to  the 
promise  of  the  honorable  Peetohpeekiss  to  ac- 
cord anything  he  might  ask  as  reward.  The 
chief  reluctantly  commanded  that  the  maiden  be 
brought  before  the  council. 

After  many  minutes  of  deathlike  silence  a 
shadow  fell  athwart  the  Painted  Wigwam,  and 
all  eyes  turned  to  The  Crystal  Stone,  who  stood 
awaiting  her  father's  pleasure.  Her  purple- 
black  hair,  interbraided  with  strips  of  otter, 
hung  heavy  and  lustrous  about  the  slim  shoulders, 
almost  reaching  the  edge  of  the  soft  tunic  of 


A  shadow  jell  athwart  the  Painted  Wigwam,  and  all  eyes  turned 
toward  Crystal  Stone. 


«_•    •  •  •  « 


,  «.    •    e  J*  t      c'  *-  *      t         ••  '  »     *  c  »     * 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

doeskin  which  fell  in  straight  folds  to  the  little 
moccasined  feet.  Its  splendid  embroidery  of 
richly  dyed  quills  and  feathers  was  edged  with 
snowy  ermine,  and  around  her  neck  was  a  string 
of  iridescent  shells,  scintillating  fiery  lights  of 
blue  and  green. 

Ignoring  the  gaze  of  the  stranger  who  stood 
near  by,  she  slowly  advanced  to  the  side  of  Pee- 
tohpeekiss  and  listened  with  quiet,  attentive  eyes 
until  the  end.  Then  turning  away  with  cold 
dignity  she  said,  "Let  the  white  man  speak." 

Despite  the  presence  of  the  stolid  council, 
William  caught  her  hand  and,  seeing  the  tears 
in  her  eyes,  knew  that  he  had  won. 

After  the  marriage  according  to  Blackfoot 
traditions,  he  journeyed  with  his  bride  to  the 
nearest  white  settlement,  where,  in  the  tiny  chapel 
of  hewn  logs,  they  knelt  to  their  great  love's  final 
sacrament.  Then  in  joy  and  reverence  they  stole 
to  the  loving,  brooding  wing  of  the  forest  and 
to  their  bridal  chorus,  chanted  by  the  voices  of 
many  waters. 

After  several  years  a  dreamy,  rapturous 
springtime  brought  them  a  new  blessing.  They 
were  living  on  the  shores  of  a  great  river  of  the 


NAYA 

North.  William  was  forced  to  absent  himself 
for  a  day,  leaving  Crystal  Stone  to  the  happy 
tasks  that  filled  her  simple  existence.  Not  being 
able  to  return  by  nightfall,  as  he  had  expected, 
the  first  gray  of  dawn  found  him  anxiously  urg- 
ing his  pony  through  the  clouds  of  mist  that 
drifted  in  the  hollows.  As  he  was  about  to  enter 
the  wigwam,  from  the  crest  of  which  floated  a 
threadlike  spiral  of  smoke,  his  footsteps  were 
welcomed  by  a  joyous  laugh,  and,  entering,  he 
found  Crystal  Stone  seated  on  a  pile  of  skins  by 
the  fire,  her  face  charged  with  an  eloquent  ten- 
derness. Falling  to  his  knees  beside  her,  he  re- 
ceived in  his  arms  a  solid  little  bundle,  the  giv- 
ing being  accompanied  by  a  radiant  smile  and 
the  words,  "Our  daughter,  Ca-cha-tose  Naya- 
tohta!"^ 

"Oh,  what  a  little  name  for  such  a  big  girl," 
said  the  new  father,  smothering  one  of  his  great 
boyish  laughs. 

Crystal  Stone  lifted  a  happy  face  in  explana- 
tion. 

"Last  night  was  she  put  in  these  arms.  The 
stars  trembled  gold  on  the  black  river.     She  is 


1  Stars-on-the-River. 

10 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Ca-cha-tose  Nayatohta,  but,  if  you  will,  Naya 
for  each  day^s  calling." 

Thus  came  Naya  to  the  world. 

Some  years  afterward  the  great  herds  of  cat- 
tle were  driven  from  the  south  to  the  vast  plains 
of  Wyoming,  and  Dunsmuir,  perceiving  an  ex- 
cellent opportunity  to  further  his  fortunes, 
bought  out  a  big  outfit  which  had  recently  been 
trailed  from  Texas,  and  established  the  great 
Circle-Arrow  Ranch  on  the  Powder  River. 
Every  year  after  the  spring  round-up,  he  took 
his  little  family  into  the  heart  of  the  Bighorn 
Mountains,  which  loomed  massive  and  irregular 
against  the  western  sky. 

Once,  when  for  the  tenth  time  the  snowy 
syringa  showered  its  petals  in  Naya's  lovely  child 
face,  when  the  streams  with  wild  merriment 
sparkled  and  splashed  through  the  sunny  glades, 
when  the  wild  currant  bent  its  yellow  plumes  to 
the  mystic  pools  of  the  forest,  the  Angel  of  Sor- 
row arrested  her  flight  and  cast  the  shadow  of 
her  great  dark  wings  over  the  land.  While  gath- 
ering willows,  Eehniskim  made  an  unfortunate 
step,  which,  caving  the  bank,  soaked  and  loosened 

II 


NAYA 

by  the  spring  rains,  caused  her  to  fall  to  the  stony- 
creek  bed  below. 

All  night  in  bewildered  anguish  her  husband 
sat  holding  the  cold  little  form.  The  silence  was 
unbroken  save  for  the  pines  overhead,  as  they 
mourned  together,  or  for  the  steady  breathing 
of  the  child,  who  lay  at  his  knee  exhausted  by 
her  weeping  over  the  great,  incomprehensible 
tragedy.  Thus  he  remained  until  the  ragged 
peaks  far  above  flashed  with  the  savage  splendors 
of  a  new  day's  sun.  Awakening  Naya,  he  carried 
the  silent  one  up  out  of  the  gloom,  past  the  drifts 
of  syringa,  pale  and  ghostlike  in  the  canon's 
gray  light;  up  beyond  the  echo  of  the  water- 
fall's morning  song;  on  and  up  until  the  timber 
lay  behind  and  nothing  remained  but  the 
soaring  pinnacles  of  granite,  stretching  snowy 
arms  to  the  dazzling  heavens.  They  came  to  a 
miniature  plateau  which  spread  before  them  like 
a  flower-enameled  mosaic,  suffused  with  sun- 
shine, and  there  he  gently  laid  his  precious 
burden.  Many  times  he  retraced  his  steps, 
bringing  great  armfuls  of  spring's  fairyland 
from  the  slopes  and  canons  below. 

Then  they  left  her  to  her  eternal  sleep. 

12 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Every  year  at  the  time  of  flowers  they  re- 
turned, and  every  night  and  every  morning  Naya 
turned  her  face  toward  the  distant  sentinels,  pray- 
ing to  the  Great  Spirit  that  the  sorrow  which 
lay  at  their  feet  might  eventually  be  lifted. 


13 


CHAPTER  II 

Wandering  ever  in  the  dance  of  her  own  sweet  radiance. 
George  MacDonald — The  Wonder. 

On  she  sped  in  her  great  wreath  of  cloud 
shadow,  through  tawny  buffalo  grass  and  gorge- 
ous cacti  bloom,  their  golden  beauty  left  far  be- 
hind to  dream  luxuriously  on  the  sun-steeped 
plain;  on  with  flying  feet  and  flying  braids,  past 
gently  billowing  tumbleweeds  and  white  prick- 
ly poppies,  tremulous  and  drooping  in  the  heat; 
on — on  up  the  little  slope  to  the  bed  of  wild  sweet 
peas,  darkling  and  bending  in  the  wind,  where 
breath  suddenly  failed,  and  a  laughing,  gasping 
heap  of  brown  fell  headlong  into  the  mass  of  pur- 
ple flowers.  A  gay,  impotent  little  hand  caught 
at  the  passing  shadow,  but  it  floated  on  black  and 
silent  as  a  raven's  wing  and  left  her  to  the  dazzle 
of  the  sunshine. 

Finally  breath  returned  and,  as  she  opened 
her  eyes,  her  whole  being  dreamed  away  from 
the  mood  which  had  challenged  the  mad  race  of 

14 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

a  few  moments  before.  The  sun,  that  flaming 
monarch  of  the  prairie,  was  again  holding  court 
behind  a  wandering  cloud,  dappling  the  grassy 
sea  with  dark  moving  shadows,  while  up  beyond 
all  the  broken  splendor  of  heaven's  arch  seemed 
to  recede  in  a  deeper,  more  majestic  blue.  As 
familiar  as  the  scene  was  to  the  child,  she  drew 
a  long  breath,  partly  of  unconscious  sympathy 
with  its  loveliness,  partly  of  the  infinite  loneliness 
one  feels  when  granted  even  a  fleeting  perception 
of  the  true  and  the  beautiful. 

Then  drawing  herself  to  her  knees  she  threw 
back  the  long  thick  braids,  and  began  gathering 
the  clusters  of  fragrant  flowers.  As  the  nosegay 
grew,  she  caught  sight  of  a  loco  plant  and 
recalled  the  words  of  one  of  the  ranch  hands 
whom  she  had  overheard  the  night  before  while 
balancing  herself  on  the  high  sod  wall  that  sur- 
rounded the  corral. 

"That  there  bald  faced  Sally's  gone  clean 
mad.  It'll  take  mor'n  a  broncho  buster  to  ride 
'er  now.  Bill  says  she  's  et  some  of  that  nasty 
loco  weed  and  that  she  's  plumb  clean  locoed." 

Naya  reflected.  "Locoed!"  It  sounded  a  lit- 
tle terrifying  but  supremely  fascinating,  and  it 

IS 


NAYA 

would  never  do  to  let  Sally  monopolize  all  the 
new  and  therefore  delightful  experiences.  She 
selected  the  tip  of  a  dusty  leaf  and  placed  it  gin- 
gerly on  her  tongue.  As  she  was  wrinkling  her 
nose  in  disgust  over  the  bitter  taste,  she  heard  a 
dull  onrushing  sound  that  brought  her  quickly 
to  her  feet.  There  across  the  slightly  rolling 
hills  came  a  band  of  young  horses,  frivolously 
tossing  their  heads  and  kicking  up  their  heels 
as  if  quite  oblivious  of  the  ultimate  sober  duties 
of  plough  and  range  that  awaited  them.  Naya 
fearlessly  stood  her  ground,  waving  her  boquet 
joyously  and  calling  in  an  eager  voice,  "Pigeon! 
Pigeon!"  No  voice  could  have  carried  above  the 
roar  of  pounding  hoofs,  but  as  the  flying  band 
passed  just  below  her,  a  little  blue  roan  pinto 
caught  sight  of  the  familiar  brown  figure  and 
hesitated,  halted,  finally  began  to  climb  the 
slope,  followed  by  her  reluctant  child,  a  tiny  long 
limbed  sorrel,  which  obediently  followed  his 
mother,  in  spite  of  a  turning  of  head  and  a  plain- 
tive whinny  after  the  merry,  now  fast  receding 
throng  of  play  fellows. 

"Oh!  Pidgy,  Pidgy,"  the  little  girl  lovingly 
cooed,  tangling  her  hands  in  the  heavy  mane  and 

i6 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

rubbing  her  nose  against  the  silky  neck  like  an 
overjoyed  pony  delivered  from  solitary  confine- 
ment, "Why  are  you  run  away  so  often?  It  is 
forever  the  night  with  you  and  father  both  gone. 
Yes,  here  is  another  nubbin." 

The  recipient  of  these  tender  nose  rubbings 
and  impassioned  little  whisperings  had  been 
standing  with  drooping  head  and  half  closed 
eyes,  her  whole  attitude  a  relaxation  to  the 
munching  of  the  corn  her  mistress  had  provided. 
This  dispatched,  cob  and  all.  Pigeon  awoke  to 
further  possibilities,  and  began  to  nose  the  bulg- 
ing pocket  which  to  her  was  a  never  failing 
horn  of  plenty. 

"Here,  hungry  darling,"  continued  the  fool- 
ish little  talk,  "One  wee  bit  is  left  and  the  lump 
of  sugar  for  Baby  Kickapoo." 

He,  by  the  way,  had  found  his  mother's  tem- 
porary tranquillity  a  more  than  soul  filling  com- 
pensation for  the  wrench  from  his  initiatory  cap- 
ers in  the  social  world  of  Powder  River,  and  was 
now  quite  ravished  with  the  idea  of  sugar  for 
dessert. 

"No,  no,  bad  child,"  said  Naya  severely, 
backing  a  few  steps  from  his  youthful  importun- 


NAYA 

ities.  "So  bad  manners  is  snatching.  Now 
shake  hands."  This  last  was  in  a  coaxing  tone 
so  familiar  to  the  colt  that  he  graciously  began 
to  paw  the  air.  She  caught  at  the  tiny  black  hoof 
and,  while  he  gobbled  the  coveted  prize,  quietly 
slipped  a  short  length  of  rope  from  the  vol- 
uminous pocket,  and,  concealing  it,  advanced  to 
the  unsuspecting  mother. 

Pigeon  had  vivid  and  sometimes  agonized 
memories  of  a  wild,  madly  joyous  life,  when, 
care  free  and  unmolested,  she  flew  over  the  plains 
like  a  bird,  making  the  prairie  dogs  run  chatter- 
ing to  their  holes,  and  the  coyotes  stand  and  gaze 
in  sulky  silence;  when  in  summer's  heat  she 
sought  the  cool  shadows  of  the  canons  and  in 
winter's  snow  was  free  to  choose  a  warm,  shel- 
tered cliff  to  protect  her  from  the  cruel  white 
hand  that  had  so  often  slain  the  reckless  and  the 
tardy. 

Now  those  days  were  gone,  and  except  for 
occasional  bursts  of  rebellion  she  had  learned  to 
accept  philosophically  the  contemptible  sheds 
and  diabolic  wire  fences.  Usually  the  furious 
leap  of  spirit  that  preceded  these  outbreaks  was 
quelled  by  this  beseeching  voice  and  caressing 

i8 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

hand,  but  it  was  hard  to  give  in  to-day.  She  had 
meant  to  linger  only  long  enough  to  munch  her 
morsels  of  corn  and  then  pursue  the  thirsty  pil- 
grimage to  the  river,  lying  hidden  in  the  lowlands 
to  the  east.  Hateful  bondage!  She  gave  an  im- 
petuous spring,  jerking  to  the  ground  her  valiant 
captor,  who,  quite  unruffled,  as  if  a  tumble  was 
nothing  to  her,  scrambled  up,  still  clinging  to 
the  rope,  and,  deftly  slipping  a  half  hitch  over 
Pigeon's  nose,  landed  with  a  little  jump  on  her 
now  humble  captive's  back.  Off  they  went  at  a 
great  rate,  plunging  straight  into  the  shimmering 
sea  that  billowed  toward  the  south  in  an  endless 
haze  of  blue,  making  the  jack  rabbits  and  lizards 
fly  in  hysterical  haste,  while  the  grasshoppers 
were  left  to  their  mad  hopping,  wondering  what 
kind  of  a  cyclone  it  was  that  had  frightened  them 
into  such  violent  fits.  Light  and  swift  as  an  ante- 
lope fled  the  gleeful  Pigeon,  followed  by  her 
frolicsome  offspring,  while  Naya,  lying  prone 
with  her  cheek  against  the  out-stretched  neck, 
now  and  then  uttered  wierd  little  Indian  cries  of 
encouragement.  Finally  Pigeon  recognized  fa- 
miliar signs  which  denoted  the  end  of  the  race, 

19 


NAYA 

and,  moderating  her  gait,  soon  paused  in  the 
suburbs  of  a  frequently  visited  city. 

The  inhabitants  wore  neither  claw-hammer 
coats  nor  hats  of  the  latest  dash,  nor  high  heeled 
slippers,  nor  abundant  store  hair — in  fact, 
strange  to  say,  the  houses  had  curtains  neither 
of  lace  nor  of  velvet  and,  if  there  were  any  shiny 
black  hansoms  hanging  about  for  the  public 
accommodation,  they  certainly  were  not  to  be 
spied  with  the  naked  eye.  Instead,  the  ground 
was  covered  with  hundreds  of  little  mounds, 
each  one  representing,  not  only  the  portal  of 
a  subterranean  dwelling,  but  also  a  sort  of  house 
top  from  which  the  respective  owner  proclaimed 
his  rights  and  wrongs  in  accents  cheerful  but 
decisive,  while  his  equally  voluble  and  inatten- 
tive neighbors  were  busy  with  their  own  noisy 
denunciations.  Such  a  barking  and  scolding  as 
burst  from  that  prairie  dog  town  when  it  beheld 
the  intruder  on  the  hillock!  Naya  sat  absorbed 
in  one  of  the  many  games  which  her  loneliness 
had  suggested  to  her.  ^  Why,  there's  a  wedding," 
she  thought,  as,  becoming  accustomed  to  her  still 
presence,  the  prairie  dogs  went  about  their  tasks 
and  pastimes.     Sure   enough,   there  on   their 

20 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

haunches  stood  two  grave  and  silent  citizens  in 
an  attitude  unmistakably  matrimonial,  and  from 
the  mound  which  they  faced,  harangued  the  con- 
fident preacher,  his  manner  denoting  that  he 
alone  of  all  his  saintly  brethren,  knew  how  to 
tie  a  proper  knot.  And  over  there,  not  far  away, 
two  policemen,  with  vociferous  rage  and  dis- 
approval, relentlessly  chased  an  evident  outlaw 
to  the  very  threshold  of  his  refuge,  the  passage- 
way of  which  they  swiftly  blocked  with  earth, 
tamping  it  down  with  their  noses,  while  the  vic- 
tim within  raised  his  voice  in  shrill  protestation. 
Now  this  was  all  very  well  for  Naya,  but  Pig- 
eon was  bored  beyond  endurance,  and  to  pass 
the  time  profitably,  she  dropped  her  head  and 
began  cropping  the  grass.  To  the  amazement 
of  all  concerned,  her  rider,  being  taken  entirely 
unawares,  made  a  flying  slide  down  the  slanting 
neck  and  landed  on  the  ground  with  a  bump,  just 
missing  a  spiked  prickly  pear.  Naya  shrieked 
with  delight,  while  the  astonished  populace  dis- 
appeared from  the  sight  of  man.  Pigeon,  in  the 
philosophy  of  her  years,  merely  shook  her  head 
and  ears  free  of  the  cumbersome  skirts  and 
looked  around  inquiringly.    A  growing  appetite 


NAYA 

tite  had  influenced  her  to  definite  plans,  and 
when  the  toboggan  slider  had  taken  her  former 
seat,  down  went  the  head  again  and  down  went 
the  hapless  rider.  This  time  it  was  not  so  funny, 
for  as  she  struck  the  ground,  she  heard  a  savage 
bellow  and  saw  approaching  what  was  to  her 
the  one  terror  of  the  ranch,  the  old  bull  Sur- 
prise. On  he  came,  making  the  dirt  fly,  and 
shaking  his  great  head  as  if  he  meant  to  pierce 
the  earth  with  his  horns  and  not  only  toss  the 
silent  city  quite  over  the  radiant  July  sun,  but 
also  to  hurl  the  panic-stricken  child  after  it.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  tugging  frantically  at  the 
rope  in  a  useless  endeavor  to  make  Pigeon  lift 
her  head.  She  abandoned  this  attempt  and  tried 
to  get  on  anyway.  Of  course  the  short  cluster 
of  mane  left  to  her  grasp  slipped  from  trembling 
fingers  and,  quite  losing  her  balance,  down  she 
went  in  a  tearful  heap  under  the  heels  of  the 
exasperating  pony.  The  menacing  roar  came 
nearer  and  nearer.  To  her  indescribable  relief, 
this  unhappy  moment  was  blessed  by  the  call 
of  a  cheery  Scotch  voice. 

"Dinna  be  cast  doon,  bairnie.    Ye're  safe  as 
in  yir  ain  hoose.    Tha  beastie  weel  no  harm  ye." 

22 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

As  the  man  rode  up  to  her  and  dismounted, 
old  Surprise  continued  his  stormy  course  toward 
the  ranch  corral  and  the  child,  smiling  through 
her  rare  tears,  grasped  the  arm  of  the  kind- 
faced  Highlander,  saying,  "I  thought  to  jour- 
ney to  the  Milky  Way.  How  I  am  glad  to  see 
you!" 

They  mounted  and  hurried  on  in  order  to 
overtake  and  properly  dispose  of  the  steadily 
gaining  mischief-maker.  Suddenly  Dougal  with 
the  air  of  attentive  eagerness  which  character- 
izes the  teller  of  good  news,  said,  "Yonder  a' 
tha  hoose  ye'U  be  findin'  Auld  Tom  wi'  tha 
mail.  Some  one  is  comin'  who'll  be  a  wearyin' 
to  see  ye ;  nae  doot." 

"Father!"  exclaimed  the  child  in  a  voice  elo- 
quent of  gladness  and  excitement. 

"Ye'U  better  come  awa'  hame,"  continued  he 
teasingly,  "and  put  yir  sel*  bonnie  in  yir  kirk 
frock.  When  tha  mune  begins  tae  shine  aboot 
nine,  I  ken" —  breaking  off  absently  and  lean- 
ing to  inspect  his  cinch. 

"To-night?"  asked  the  child,  incredulity  and 
joy  flooding  her  face ;  then,  without  waiting  for 
a  reply,  oflf  she  flew,  giving  the  amazed  Pigeon 

3  23 


NAYA 

such  a  series  of  little  kicks  with  her  soft  moc- 
casined  feet  that,  in  dire  resentment,  the  deceit- 
ful pony  emitted  great  cavernous  groans  and 
stumbled  along  as  if  she  were  the  most  abused 
creature  in  seven  kingdoms. 

Meanwhile,  the  deserted  Dougal  wended  his 
way  toward  the  corral  and,  gazing  after  Naya, 
soliloquized  thoughtfully. 

"She  weel  be  sittin'  on  peens  for  mair  than 
foor  oors,  an'  every  meenut  an  oor.  He  canna' 
cum  til  nine  wi'out  ower  drivin'.  Gudeness, 
how  I'm  a  luvin'  yon  lassie.  She  is  shure  tha 
licht  o'  this  ranch." 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Child-heart  is  so  strange  a  little  thing — 
So  mild — so  timorously  shy  and  small, — 
When  grown-up  hearts  throb,  it  goes  scampering 
Behind  the  wall,  nor  dares  peep  out  at  all — 
It   is  the  veriest  mouse 
That  hides  in  any  house — 
So  wild  a  little  thing  is  any  Child-heart. 

Riley— 7^^  Old  Home  Folks. 

Three  years  had  passed  since  the  death  of 
Crystal  Stone.  For  the  first  time,  William  was 
unable  to  superintend  the  spring  round-up  and 
moreover,  a  deprivation  of  infinitely  greater 
consequence, he  andNaya  were  obliged  to  forego 
their  annual  pilgrimage  of  love.  Early  in  May, 
learning  of  his  father's  illness,  he  had  gone  has- 
tily to  England,  leaving  Naya  to  the  protection 
of  the  kind  and  dependable  frontier  woman 
who  had  cared  for  the  household  since  their 
great  loss.  She  was  a  splendid  soul,  blest  with 
both  refinement  and  fortitude,  the  latter  trait 
serving  her  well  during  the  years  of  hardship 
incident  to  a  pioneer's  life. 


NAYA 

As  Naya  tore  into  the  house,  a  whirlwind  on 
pattering  moccasins,  Hannah  sat  by  a  window 
mending  an  outrageous  tear  in  a  dress  singularly 
like  the  one  adorning  the  newcomer. 

"Hannah — quickly — ^where  may  be  the  letter 
of  my  father?" 

"Where  is  my  father's  letter,''  said  Hannah, 
lifting  her  strong,  worn  countenance  in  a  wel- 
coming smile,  as  she  corrected  the  awkwardly 
worded  phrase. 

"In  the  tree  top,  honey  dear.  You  usually 
enter  that  way  and  I  thought  you  would  have  it 
a  little  sooner." 

The  last  words  might  as  well  have  been  spoken 
to  a  swiftly  winging  swallow,  for  almost  be- 
fore she  had  finished,  Naya  was  through  the 
door,  around  the  corner,  and  up  among  the 
branches  of  a  great  silvery  cottonwood,  where, 
on  the  little  table,  two  letters  were  pinioned 
from  the  dancing  breezes  by  a  tiny  weight  of 
opalescent  ore.  One,  with  broken  seal,  was  ad- 
dressed to  "Mr.  Dougal  Cameron,"  while  the 
other,  which  still  remained  unopened,  was  ad- 
dressed to  "Miss  Naya  Dunsmuir,  Circle-Arrow 
Ranch,  Buffalo,  Wyo.,"  with  a  splendid  sound- 


The  child  rent  the  envelope  and  slowly  read  the  Ictti 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

ing  "via  Miles  City,  Mont,"  in  one  corner. 
With  a  rapid  flash  of  gratitude  to  the  young 
Scotch  foreman,  whose  kind  hand  had  left  his 
letter  too,  the  child  rent  her  envelope  and  slowly 
read: 

Clifdale.  Westmoreland,  England. 

June  1 2th,  1 88 — . 

Dear  Little  Daughter: — After  carefully  reck- 
oning the  days,  I  find  that  if  my  letter  catches 
the  stage  I  have  in  mind,  it  will  arrive  at  the 
ranch  early  in  July,  while  if  it  is  compelled  to 
wait  over  until  the  following  week,  we  will  ar- 
rive arm  in  arm.  My,  but  father  will  be  glad 
to  see  his  childie.  I  have  such  heaps  of  things 
to  tell  you  about  grandmother  and  grandfather 
(he  is  much  better)  and  your  little  cousins,  but 
I  will  save  all  for  one  of  our  evenings 
on  the  river  porch.  And  I  am  just 
brimming  with  secrets.  You  can't  guess 
what  I  have  for  you.  Something 
neither  square  nor  round,  nor  very  high 
nor  very  wide,  nor  very  thick  nor  very  thin.  This 
is  the  way  you  will  look  when  you  see  it. 

Goodie-bye,  as  Dougal  says.    Worlds  of  love 
from 

Father. 
27 


NAYA 

Pausing  for  an  instant  of  mystified  reflection 
and  an  ecstatic  little  caper,  she  turned  to  Dou- 
gars,  which  consisted  of  brief  instructions  for  a 
team  to  meet  him  at  Buffalo  on  a  certain  date. 
To-day!  Rushing  in  search  of  Hannah,  who 
was  now  arranging  William's  room,  Naya 
learned  that  the  day  before  Old  Tom  on  horse- 
back had  taken  his  weekly  trip  to  Buffalo  for  the 
mail,  and  on  arriving  at  that  bustling  stage  junc- 
tion, had  been  astonished  at  the  sight  of  her 
father  climbing  with  the  other  dust  coated  pas- 
sengers iiom  the  Miles  City  Overland.  He 
would  not  wait  for  the  buckboard  to  come  from 
the  ranch,  but  after  a  few  hours  delay,  on  account 
of  business,  would  follow  Old  Tom  with  a  liv- 
ery team.    So  he  would  arrive  to-night! 

The  narrator  of  these  thrilling  events  received 
such  a  bear  hug  that  she  fairly  gasped. 

"Now,"  said  Naya,  her  head  whirling  with 
rapid  and  decisive  plans,  "I  will  no  eat  supper 
until  he  comes,  nor  you  either,  Hannah,  nor 
Dougal.  Surely,  how  nice  to  have  chokecherry 
rolly-poly  and  potpie  of  grouse — father  has  a 
so  big  adoration  for  rolly-poly  and  potpie.  And 
there  shall  be  wild  roses  for  his  room — may  the 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

wind  have  left  a  few — and  sunflowers  for  the 
sitting  room." 

"Bless  you,  child,"  returned  the  sympathetic 
woman,  "tell  Dougal  to  get  the  grouse  and  I 
will  fix  them,  and  you  run  to  yon  bend  of  the 
river  and  gather  some  cherries." 

The  Powder  River  is  one  of  those  deep  bedded 
streams  which,  at  near  view,  is  seen  to  roll  its 
turbid,  sluggish  waters  over  countless  sand  bars 
and  around  numerous  islands,  green  with  a 
meshlike  growth  of  quaking  aspens  and  willows 
and  leaning  cottonwoods,  while  surveyed  from 
a  height  it  spreads  and  tangles  itself  over  the 
shaded  velvet  prairies,  or  through  chasms  be- 
tween pine  sprinkled  bluffs,  like  a  lost  strand  of 
silver,  richly  jeweled  with  topaz  and  emerald. 

Both  for  comfort  and  beauty,  the  low  rambling 
ranch  house  of  stout  hewn  logs  had  been  built  on 
its  western  bank,  just  south  of  a  great  butte,  its 
noble  proportions  lashed  and  splashed  by  the 
tempest  into  fantastic  outlines  and  strangely 
blended  hues  of  ochre  and  violet.  The  whole 
country  hereabout  was  scattered  with  these  time- 
worn  figures,  as  if  the  monarch  of  the  Bad  Lands, 
that  region  of  traditional  terror,  had  momen- 


NAYA 

tarily  softened  his  heart  of  stone  and  sent  an 
army  of  warning  heralds  to  his  southern  boun- 
dary. For  protection  from  wintery  blasts  the 
house  hugged  close  to  the  butte,  and  was  shel- 
tered and  adorned  on  its  three  remaining  flanks 
by  unusually  large  and  luxuriant  cottonwoods, 
with  here  and  there  a  little  fir  or  spruce  which 
the  wistful  suggestion  of  a  now  silent  voice  had 
caused  to  be  transplanted  from  the  mountains. 

The  low,  heavily  beamed  ceiling  and  rough 
unfinished  walls  of  the  interior  lent  themselves 
admirably  to  the  wild  charm  of  Naya's  decora- 
tions. After  she  and  Pigeon  had  made  a  raid 
on  the  cherry  patch  there  was  a  trip  to  the  fields 
for  sunflowers,  and  a  trip  to  the  prairie  for  pop- 
pies, and  a  trip  to  a  canon  for  this,  and  a  trip  to 
the  river  for  that,  until  Dougal  said,  "Aboot 
sundoon  I'll  be  a  buryin'  ye  if  ye  nae  stop,"  while 
Hannah  put  in  an  effectual  remonstrance. 

When  all  was  finished,  the  tired  but  happy 
child  went  to  her  room.  This  apartment  opened 
from  a  spacious  sitting  room  and  formed  part 
of  a  south  wing  which  had  been  added  to  the 
main  structure  a  few  months  after  its  comple- 
tion.   Owing  to  its  site  being  some  three  or  four 

30 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

feet  higher  than  the  floor  of  the  adjoining  room, 
in  reaching  it  one  mounted  a  little  stairway. 
The  open  door  revealed  a  taste  both  wild  and 
startling.  At  the  far  end  and  reaching  almost 
to  the  peak  of  the  slanting  roof,  was  a  wall  of 
ragged  boulders,  in  the  crevices  of  which 
trickled  and  sang  the  shining  threads  of  falling 
water,  while  here  and  there  grew  vivid  patches 
of  moss  and  fern,  their  graceful  leaves  feather- 
ing downward  toward  the  luminous  pool  at  its 
base.  Every  morning  at  daybreak  Naya  plunged 
into  its  refreshing  waters,  sniffing  with  delight 
the  wild  wood  odor  of  fern  and  flower  that 
formed  its  border.  The  fireplace,  likewise  of 
stone,  was  banked  with  scarlet  buffalo  berries, 
still  wreathed  in  the  delicate,  snowy  lace  of  the 
wild  cucumber,  while  on  the  shelf  overhead 
was  an  Indian  basket  of  beautiful  pattern,  massed 
with  the  blue-green  foliage  and  white  blossoms 
of  the  prickly  poppy.  Surmounting  this  was  a 
great  deer  head,  its  wide,  many  pointed  antlers 
ladened  with  half-burned  candles.  In  one  cor- 
ner a  miniature  wigwam,  a  gift  from  Naya's 
mother's  people,  reared  its  head  of  crossed  and 
intercrossed  branches,  its  sloping  sides  of  deer 

31 


NAYA 

skin  crudely  emblazoned  in  colored  quills  with 
outlines  of  tomahawks  and  ponies  and  warriors 
in  aggressive  attitudes,  while  its  border  was  a 
heavy  fringe  of  black  horsehair.  Everywhere 
there  were  the  heads  and  gleaming  eyes  of  the 
first  settlers  of  this  vast  wilderness,  everywhere, 
walls  and  floor,  soft  skins  and  gorgeous  Indian 
blankets,  strings  of  elk  teeth  and  of  snake  rattles 
and  of  quill-like  shells  from  the  far-away 
Pacific,  pieces  of  petrified  wood,  wide  fans  of 
eagle  feathers,  and  beaded  Indian  garments  and 
relics,  in  a  mad  profusion  of  color.  In  the  midst 
of  this  barbaric  display  was  the  latest  specimen 
of  the  ingenious  DougaPs  handiwork,  a  narrow 
bed  of  satiny,  sweet  smelling  pine  covered  with 
a  counterpane  of  pure  white.  Over  this  hung 
Naya's  most  precious  treasure,  a  vague  pastel 
sketch  of  her  mother,  whose  lovely  lineaments 
had  been  an  inspiration  to  William's  latent  tal- 
ent. She  was  represented  with  head  thrown  back 
among  what  seemed  to  be  the  heavy  branches 
of  a  pine.  Barring  the  wonderful  eyes  and  smile 
and  the  touches  of  ermine  on  her  tunic,  all  was 
shadowy  and  indistinct. 

While  Naya  dressed,  a  wee  fat  porcupine  with 

33 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

quills  like  pinfeathers  rolled  about  and  fondled 
her  feet  in  a  most  laughable  display  of  affection, 
while  the  velvet-eyed  fawn,  Sahkee,  trotting 
about  on  dainty  legs,  alternately  kissed  her  hands 
and  chewed  her  braids. 

As  the  time  passed  she  grew  more  and  more 
restless.  The  cooling  twilight  was  fast  veiling 
the  heated  land,  but  from  her  window  she  could 
still  discern  two  spires  shadowing  upward 
toward  the  sky,  their  attitude  suggesting  a  portal 
to  the  lonely,  mystic  sea  beyond,  whence  came 
the  occasional  shrill  cry  of  a  wild  fowl  or  the 
faint  wail  of  a  wandering  coyote.  Soon  the  stars 
began  to  glitter  with  that  brilliance  peculiar  to 
prairie  regions,  and  overhead  the  Milky  Way 
glimmered  like  a  scarf  of  luminous  white  which 
the  night  winds  had  torn  from  the  moon-lady's 
shoulders. 

A  strange  shyness  kept  her  from  the  roadside 
where  she  meant  to  listen  for  her  father's  return, 
and  when  she  finally  heard  his  voice  in  the  sit- 
ting room  she  astonished  herself  by  creeping  into 
the  little  Indian  lodge,  and  curling  up  on  the 
floor,  she  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

There  he  found  her,  and  although  the  tears 

33 


NAYA 

were  in  his  own  eyes,  he  could  not  help  laughing 
at  her  dormouse  attitude. 

"It  is  not  that  I  have  no  gladness  to  see  you, 
father,"  she  sobbed,  as  he  picked  her  up,  kiss- 
ing her  again  and  again.  Then  she  laughed  too, 
and  seizing  each  other's  hands,  they  danced 
around  the  room  as  if  they  were  in  a  Punch  and 
Judy  show. 

In  the  doorway  stood  a  boy  of  fourteen  or 
thereabouts,  dumbfounded  over  the  scene  that 
met  his  gaze.  On  catching  sight  of  him  Naya 
paused  abruptly,  and  turned  to  her  father  with 
a  question  in  her  eyes. 

"Come  in,  Arthur,"  he  said  heartily.  "This 
is  your  cousin,  dear,"  turning  to  his  daughter. 
"He  has  come  to  live  with  us  and  help  me  make 
you  mind." 

One  could  scarcely  say  that  she  was  the 
facsimile  of  the  caricature,  but  in  her  wide-eyed 
astonishment,  she  certainly  bore  it  a  striking  re- 
semblance. Finally  her  face  illumined  in  a 
smile  and  she  said  slowly,  "Then  you  are  the 
neither  thick  nor  thin  nor  round  nor  square." 

As  this  petrifying  speech  reached  the  boy's 
cars,  there  was  a  mad  rush  through  the  room,  fol- 

34 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

lowed  by  a  splash,  and  the  fawn,  with  distended 
nostrils  and  affrighted  eyes,  was  seen  to  plunge 
into  the  pool  with  an  unfamiliar  looking  Scotch 
collie  in  eager  and  noisy  pursuit.  Finding  this 
an  untenable  refuge,  the  terrified  creature 
scrambled  out,  scattering  in  its  wake  flowers  and 
ferns  and  stones;  then  bounding  through  an  open 
window,  it  tore  across  a  narrow  bridgeway  and 
disappeared  in  the  tree  tops  and  the  night. 

This  sudden  din  broke  the  ice,  and  the  silky 
penitent  stranger  having  been  presented  to  his 
new  mistress,  they  all  went  down  the  steps  and, 
traversing  the  sitting  room,  aglow  with  sun- 
flowers, entered  the  dining  room  beyond,  where 
Hannah  and  Dougal,  hungry,  but  loyally  obedi- 
ent to  commands,  awaited  their  coming. 

"Think  of  my  little  prairie  chicken  eating  pot- 
pie  and  rolly-poly  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,"  said 
William,  viewing  the  steaming  dishes  and  the 
flowers  that  adorned  the  table. 

"But  I  am  been — have  been,"  corrected  the 
child,  looking  at  Hannah,  "most  good  the  whole 
time.  To-day  though,  I  was  pretty  baby  and 
bad,  two  times.  Cried  I  Once  when  old  Surprise 
got  for  me  and  once  when  you  got  for  me,"  and 

35 


NAYA 

looking  up  at  her  father  aiffectionately,  she 
hitched  her  chair  closer  to  his. 

"An'  do  ye  call  that  all  yir  badness?"  ques- 
tioned Douglas  teasingly. 

"Oh,  that,"  she  replied,  in  quick  confession, 
thinking  he  spoke  with  hidden  intent.  "I  did 
swim  the  river  one  day  and  having  no  time  to 
come  home  for  dinner,  I  did  eat  the  green  wild 
plums  and  chokecherries  in  a  canon.  That  is 
all." 

"An'  a  fine  sight  ye  were  when  I  found  ye — 
yir  face  all  streaked  wi'  chokecherry  juice  an' 
yir  frock  all  torn.    A  nice  scare  ye  gae  us." 

"Tell  your  father  what  you  found,"  said  Han- 
nah, who  was  busy  heaping  plates  and  filling 
cups. 

"Oh,  yes,  father.  A  so  queer  thing,  of  stone 
like  Indian  grandmother  uses  to  pound  the  grass- 
hopper meal  in." 

"Grasshopper  meal!"  exclaimed  Arthur, 
•startled  out  of  his  bashful  silence. 

"Surely,"  said  the  child,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
mischief,  for  she  had  heard  of  the  prejudice  of 
the  white  race.  "Once  on  a  lake  in  the  far  North 
I  made  visits  to  good  Indian  grandmother,  and 

36 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

she  pounded  me  a  so  lovely  little  cake  of  grass- 
hoppers and  baked  it  on  a  hot  rock.  My,  choke- 
cherry  rolly-poly  is  most  bad  to  compare." 

Arthur  remained  speechless  for  the  rest  of  the 
meal. 

When  they  returned  to  the  sitting  room,  they 
found  that  the  trunks  and  boxes  had  already  been 
carried  in.  William  immediately  unstrapped 
the  largest  and  took  from  it  a  dozen  or  more 
books,  which  Naya  received  in  open  arms,  and 
plumping  down  on  the  floor,  she  began  reading 
the  titles  aloud. 

"  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,'  ^Undine,'— that  so 
lovely  waterlady  story  you  once  told  me? — Taul 
and  Virginia' — ^why  what  is  that?" 

"A  gift  from  Grandmother  Dunsmuir,"  the 
amused  father  answered,  unwrapping  a  big  wax 
doll  from  its  many  coverings  of  tissue  paper. 

"Oh — h,"  going  into  gales  of  laughter,  *4t  is  as 
I  would  look  to  meet  a  grizzly  bear.  My  eyes 
would  turn  blue  and  stare  and  my  hair  would 
shrink  into  yellow  mats." 

Then  remembering  that  she  was  being  rude, 
she  continued  graciously.  "But  how  very  nice 
of  English  grandmother  to  think  so  kindly." 

37 


NAYA 

Just  then  out  came  a  hat  of  drooping  brown 
straw,  its  crown  encircled  with  a  willowy  plume, 
which  William  had  seen  in  a  Fifth  Avenue  shop 
window,  and,  suddenly  recalling  that  Naya  had 
never  worn  anything  but  a  little  shawl  in  coldest 
winter  and  her  own  heavy  tresses  in  summer,  he 
decided  to  attempt  a  conversion  ^in  favor  of 
civilized  headgear. 

The  English  boy  had  scarcely  spoken  the 
whole  evening,  but  a  steady  observation  of  his 
surroundings  and  of  Naya  in  particular,  had 
given  him  impressions  which  were  rather  jolt- 
ing to  the  ideas  and  images  gained  from  a  hum- 
drum village  existence.  He  noticed  with 
amazed  interest  Naya's  splendid  purple-black 
braids,  which,  entwined  with  chains  of  scarlet 
kinnikinic  berries,  fell  to  the  edge  of  her  skirt, 
and  the  necklace  of  little  polished  bear  claws 
shining  against  the  deep  red  of  her  dress,  the  gir- 
dle of  moss  agates,  the  bright  beaded  moccasins, 
and  most  of  all,  the  frank  chatter  and  radiant 
face.  The  climax  came  when,  seizing  the  hat 
and  crushing  it  on  sideways,  the  plume  which 
should  have  fallen  behind  bobbing  in  her  face, 
she  snatched  the  terrified  looking  doll  and  went 

38 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

spinning  around  the  room  with  the  collie  bark- 
ing joyously  at  her  heels. 

"A  girl  who  eats  grasshoppers,  has  a  water- 
fall in  her  room,  and  never  had  a  hat  I"  thought 
he. 

Soon  there  was  a  general  dispersion  to  bed,  but 
long  after  he  had  gone  to  his  room,  Arthur  lay 
reviewing  all  he  had  seen  and  heard,  until,  full 
of  wonder  about  the  new  life  he  was  entering 
upon,  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  the  silence  of 
the  prairie  night  brooded  over  all. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Like  the  bright  shade  of  some  immortal  dream 

Which  walks,  when  tempest  sleeps,  the  wave  of  life's  dark  stream. 

As  mine  own  shadow  was  this  child  to  me. 

Shelly — The  Revolt  of  Islam. 

Early  the  following  morning  William  Duns- 
muir  sat  on  the  broad  river  porch  gazing  into  the 
freshness  and  fragrance  of  a  newborn  day  with 
eyes  that  were  troubled  and  unseeing.  The 
whole  world  lifted  its  dew-sparkling  face  to  a 
mist  of  palest  gold,  and  the  meadow  larks  across 
the  river  cadenced  their  morning  ecstasy  in  tones 
of  rapturous  beauty.  But  he  saw  nothing,  heard 
nothing.  He  sat  relaxed  and  motionless,  and  the 
smooth-shaven  face  with  its  blue-gray  eyes,  so 
boyish  in  the  light  of  Naya's  candles  and  of  his 
recovered  joy,  now  fully  expressed  the  hardships 
and  sorrows  of  his  forty-four  years. 

"Had  I  but  taken  her  to  the  Catholic  Nun- 
nery at  Fort  Garry  as  I  was  minded  to  do,  all 
this  would  have  been  avoided,"  ran  his  thoughts. 
"They  seemed  nice  little  things  in  their  dove- 

40 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

colored  frocks.  She  would  be  protected  there 
and  I  would  not  be  eternally  weighted  with  this 
agonizing  fear.  But  I  shall  keep  her  with  me  in 
spite  of  all,  Dougal  says  the  school.  I  knew  he 
had  bad  news  when  he  called  me  back  to  the  sit- 
ting room  last  night.  God  knows  I  have  done 
all  I  could  for  the  child,  as  I  did  for  her 
mother." 

The  mother!  He  winced,  lashed  by  a  sudden 
anguish,  for  there  came  a  remembrance  of  that 
last  hour  by  the  firelight,  when  the  faint  smile 
faded  and  the  dusky  little  face  became  still — 
then  cold. 

"Oh,  the  hours  of  loneliness,  the  days  of  loneli- 
ness, the  years  of  loneliness!  Dear  God,  I 
would  die  if  it  were  not  for  the  child.  So  it  is 
happiness  to  love?  Foolish  dream  of  youth. 
Again  that  black  sea  of  bitter  suffering  that  rolls 
and  rolls,  its  deep  tragic  voice  never  ceasing.  I 
feel  it  roll.  I  see  its  blackness.  It  is  the  Sea  of 
Eternal  Suffering  and  Forever  Lost,  and  when 
the  sun  is  on  the  hills  and  the  sound  of  cheerful 
voices  is  in  my  ear,  then  its  terrifying  waters 
mount — mount,  and  that  despairing  voice  cries 
(surely    they    can    hear  it) — *  Alone!    Alone! 


NAYA 

Alone!'  Leave  me  the  child  or  my  life  will  be 
too  hard  to  bear.    Ah." 

The  expression  of  pain  died  from  his  face  and 
he  shifted  position  as  Naya  appeared  on  the 
slopes  below,  which,  scattered  here  and  there 
with  aspen  and  cottonwood,  descended  in  natural 
terraces  to  the  river.  She  wore  a  white  plume  in 
her  hair,  and  in  the  white  cotton  dress  of 
Hannah's  make  (the  good  soul  was  always  try- 
ing to  wean  her  from  barbaric  finery)  she  was 
quite  devoid  of  color  except  for  the  scarlet  moc- 
casins and  a  necklace  of  delicately  tinted  coral 
which  old  Spain  had  probably  left  as  a  peace 
offering  in  the  shadow  of  an  Arizona  pueblo. 

^'Heaven  keep  this  little  one,  half  fawn,  half 
meadow  lark,  with  the  dawn  of  a  spring  morn- 
ing lighting  the  dreams  in  her  eyes,"  thought 
he,  as  she  ran  up  the  hill,  followed  by  the  proud- 
gaited  Sahkee  and  the  new  collie,  her  magic 
having  evidently  effected  a  reconciliation. 

"Come  here,  little  Stars-on-the- River,"  he 
said  tenderly,  and  she  made  a  little  bound  into 
his  lap,  wrapping  her  braids  around  and  around 
his  neck,  while  she  said  gayly, 

"Such  a  so  dreadful  sleepiness  you  must  have 

42 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

had.  To-day  is  your  birthday,"  giving  a  little 
squeeze,  "and  I  am  wrong  not  to  give  you  a  Ziz- 
z-z-z-z  clock."  (Imitating  an  alarm  clock.)  We 
did  sit  on  the  floor  in  front  of  your  door  a  so  long 
time.  Did  not  we?"  pulling  the  ears  of  the  fawn 
that  was  thrusting  his  nose  in  her  face,  in  an  en- 
deavor to  attract  attention.  "The  so  white  dress 
and  plume  are  because  for  your  birthday  and  the 
so  beautiful  corals  too.  And  this,"  drawing  from 
her  pocket  a  little  tobacco  pouch  of  buckskin, 
gay  with  beads  and  fringe.  "It  is  I  who  made 
tight  each  little  bead  and  I  who  am  again  so 
happy,"  and  she  nestled  her  cheek  against  his 
rough  coat.  "What  queer  roughness  of  your 
clothes." 

"It  is  Scotch  tweed.  I  bought  them  in  Lon- 
don," replied  her  father,  until  now  a  silent  and 
loving  listener  to  her  soft-voiced  chatter. 

"Tweed!  Funny  little  name.  How  appro- 
priate (stumbling  over  the  big  word)  for 
stranger  dog  from  over  the  Great  Waters. 
Come,  Tweedie,"  she  called  to  the  collie,  which, 
with  trembling  interest,  watched  a  flock  of 
blackbirds  skimming  the  river.     "Listen  to  the 

43 


NAYA 

so  nice  name  I  give  you.  Where  is  new  cousin?" 
turning  again  to  William. 

'^He  has  gone  to  the  stables  with  Dougal.  I 
waited  here  to  speak  to  you,  for  Hannah  said  you 
would  soon  return.  I  have  something  important 
to  talk  about." 

^'Oh,  father,  not  scold,  I  hope,"  she  exclaimed, 
sitting  up  hastily  in  dire  consternation.  *'I  am 
no  lose  temper  since  two  moons." 

''No,  darling,  it  is  something  quite  different." 
Just  then  Arthur  and  Dougal  came  around 
the  house,  the  former's  fresh  boy  face  turned  in 
excited  interest  to  Dougal,  who  was  evidently 
expounding  the  merits  and  demerits  of  a  horse. 

"Mayhap  he'll  be  a  wee  bit  dour  wi  a  stranger 
ridin'  him  for  the  first  time,  but  he  has  gude  sense 
an'  is  shure  a  tidy  beastie." 

When  the  boy  spied  Naya  he  became  instantly 
shy  and,  taking  off  his  hat  with  a  muffled  "Good 
morning,"  dropped  to  a  seat  on  the  steps,  while 
William,  addressing  Dougal,  said, 

"Tell  Hannah  to  wait  breakfast  a  few  min- 
utes and  then  come  back,  for  we  might  as  well 
tell  her  now." 

44 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Arthur  rose  to  enter  the  house,  but  his  uncle 
stopped  him. 

"Stay,  Arthur,  it  is  for  you  too." 

*'You  know,  dear,"  looking  at  the  wondering 
child  and  speaking  in  the  quiet,  direct  way  so 
characteristic  of  him,  "after  your  mother  died 
we  did  not  tell  her  people,  not  only  because  they 
were  so  far,  but  also  because  I  knew  they  would 
want  to  take  her  away  to  the  far  North.  They 
now  live  on  a  great  hunting  ground  given  them 
by  the  Government,  and  are  supposed  to  stay 
there ;  but  a  few  weeks  ago,  hearing  of  our  loss, 
which  is  theirs  too,  I  appreciate  that,  they  sent 
a  messenger  to  me.  They  learned  of  my  absence 
from  Dougal,  and  they  told  him  that  if  I  do  not 
reveal  where  your  mother  is  hidden,  so  they  may 
take  her  to  the  Saskatchewan,  there  to  rest  with 
her  ancestors,  they  will  steal  you  and  keep  you 
always." 

Naya's  dark  eyes  grew  wide  with  horror. 

"No!  No!  The  Great  Spirit  will  help.  At 
the  sun's  rising  and  always  when  the  great  dark- 
ness falls  I  pray  to  him  from  my  window.  Be- 
tween the  leaves  I  can  see  the  mountains  where 
she  waits  for  me.    They  shall  never  know,"  she 

45 


NAYA 

said  passionately,  "I  tell  not.  I  die  before.  You 
think  if  they  steal  me  I  am  killed?" 

"No,  dear,  they  would  not  harm  you,  for  they 
love  you,  of  course." 

"But  you  think  I  live  w^ith  them?  Yes,  they 
are  my  people  and  I  love  the  wigwam  best — 
one  moves  to  places  always  more  lovely,  and  I  so 
adore  the  dark,  still  forest,  and  Uncle  White 
Buffalo  does  paint  his  face  so  beautiful.  But  I 
love  you  more  than  everythings  and  everybodys, 
and  I  never  leave  you  before  we  die." 

"Precious  child,  they  shall  not  have  you  and 
we  will  keep  our  secret,  but  I  ought  to  send  you 
away  to  school." 

"To  school — the  place  of  many  children  where 
they  ring  the  bells?  Oh,  father,  I  know  I  speak 
so  terrible  your  English,  but  I  will  try  more 
hard.  And  you  do  teach  me  lots  your  own  self, 
to  read,  and  to  say  not  naughty  worded  things, 
and  to  control  my  angry  and  to  call  the  birds  and 
the  flowers  with  their  names,  and  I  can  make 
pretty  bead  things  and  tame  the  little  wild  things 
and  ride  standing  up  Pigeon  when  she  runs." 
And  she  put  her  head  inside  the  rough  tweed 
jacket  and  sobbed  uncontrollably. 

46 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Uncle  William,"  said  the  boy,  who  stood  by, 
pale  and  resolute,  "let  us  keep  Naya  here.  We 
will  protect  her,  we  three,"  and  he  looked  at 
Dougal,  who  gazed  at  the  distant  bluffs  with 
moist  eyes.  "We  will  always  be  with  her — one 
of  us,  and  if  anyone  approaches  we  will  run  for 
the  ranch.  I  will  learn  to  shoot  too,"  he  added 
with  fierce  determination. 

William  clasped  his  hand  in  sympathy,  but 
sadly  replied,  "No,  that  is  it,  there  must  be  no 
blood  shed  for,  after  all,  they  are  allied  to  me  by 
very  dear  ties.  Nor  can  I  bear  to  set  the  troops 
on  them.  But  I  thought  I  must  tell  you  so  you 
could  help  us  guard  her.  Well,  anyway,  they 
will  act  according  to  their  idea  of  honor  and 
will  make  no  attempt  until  they  have  given  me  a 
chance  to  do  what  they  ask.  Do  you  still  think. 
Dougal,  that  we  ought  to  send  her  away?" 

"r  dinna  ken  tha  natur  of  the  Indian,  boot  I 
gie  ye  ma  word,  I  liked  nae  weel  their  glowerin' 
countenance  an'  dour  speech.  They  wud  ha  rent 
me  frae  end  to  end  for  a  wee  drappie  o'  speerits, 
I  ken.  Aboot  wha  yeVe  askin,'  tha  lassie  is  safe 
if  sheUl  no  run  awa'  like  tha  day  I  was  a  tellin' 
yc.    It  was  soon  after  I  met  them  in  yon  glen,  an' 

47 


NAYA 

I  thought  they  wud  nae  wait  yir  comin',  but  ha' 
ta^en  her.  She  maun  keep  tae  hame.  Hoot  on 
tha  shule,  bairnie.  Dinna  greet.  Yell  be  a 
breakin'  oor  herts  if  ye  nae  stop." 

Suddenly  she  astonished  them  all  by  starting 
upright,  fawn  eyes  aflash  and  little  fists  clenched 
tight  with  excitement. 

"My,  how  so  fast  Pigeon  would  run.  She  can 
jump  a  buffalo  wallow  most  wide  from  here  to 
bunk  house,"  she  said,  laughing  at  her  exag- 
g^ation,  "and  she  falls  never  in  the  badger  hole 
—just  once — then  how  terrible  my  fault,  for  I 
played  the  city  game,  circrush  you  call  it? — and 
the  fringes  of  the  headsash  did  dance  in  her  eyes 
and  she  could  not  see." 

"You  are  right  to  take  a  cheerful  view  of  it, 
little  Naya,"  said  her  father,  rising  and  shak- 
ing himself.  "They  may  even  change  their 
minds  and  not  return  at  all,  so  you  need  not  train 
Pigeon  to  leap  the  river  just  yet.  Hurrah  for 
ham  and  flapjacks,"  he  concluded,  assuming  an 
air  of  gayety  that  he  was  far  from  feeling,  and 
leading  the  way  toward  the  dining  room. 

As  they  entered  they  were  greeted  with  a  se- 
ries   of    sharp    barks    from    the    newly    chris- 

48 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

tened  Tweed.  In  an  attitude  of  mingled  agita- 
tion and  delight,  he  viewed  the  placid  fawn  that 
occupied  the  center  of  the  dining  table  and  con- 
tentedly rifled  the  sugar  bowl,  her  delicate  little 
nose  quite  lost  in  its  porcelain  depths.  Naya 
spatted  her  hands  gleefully,  at  which  sign  of  dis- 
missal, her  well  disciplined  child  stepped  care- 
fully to  the  chair,  thence  to  the  floor,  avoiding 
the  butter  and  the  syrup  jug  with  most  dainty 
deliberation. 

"Sweet  baby,  to  no  crash  things,"  said  her 
young  mistress,  kissing  the  sticky  nose.  Whereat 
Sahkee  coolly  trotted  off  to  the  kitchen  for  more 
sugar. 

After  breakfast  Naya  caught  up  a  little  basket 
and  called  to  the  others. 

"It  is  to-day  that  I  free  my  butterflies,  for  their 
wings  droop  with  sadness  and,  father,  you  must 
see  my  so  cunning  racoons  that  Old  Tom  did 
catch  for  me  five  sleeps  ago." 

She  danced  along,  leading  the  way  toward  the 
group  of  buildings  which  constituted  the  remain- 
der of  the  home  ranch  settlement.  On  one  arm, 
swinging  by  a  thong  of  deer  skin,  was  the  basket 
of  fresh  grasses  and  twigs  and  various  other 

49 


NAYA 

provisions,  while  under  the  other  the  little  fat 
porcupine  snuggled  blissfully.  Had  the  dis- 
dained doll  seen  this  substitute  for  her  waxen 
charms,  doubtless  she  would  have  stared  at  the 
ceiling  in  still  glassier,  wider  eyed  resentment. 
No  doubt  her  plump  pink  cheeks  would  have 
been  quite  melted  with  scalding  tears  of  humilia- 
tion and  homesickness  for  her  place  of  honor  in 
the  respectable  English  shop  far  over  the  sea. 

Arthur,  only  too  ready  to  see  everything — 
anything  of  this  strange  and  fascinating  place, 
followed  close  by,  while  the  older  members  of 
her  retinue  decided  that  the  serious  issues  of 
accounts  and  reports  could  wait  another  fifteen 
minutes.  The  boy  had  already  seen  the  bunk 
house  for  the  cowboys,  a  long,  low  structure  re- 
sembling the  barracks  of  a  frontier  post,  and  had 
even  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  shiny  pigtail  coils 
which  crowned  His  Majesty,  the  Chinese  cook, 
while  the  arrangement  of  the  stables  and  the 
checkerboard  of  corrals  were  all  his  own  for 
evermore;  but  the  mysteries  of  the  little  sod 
building  in  the  shadow  of  the  cottonwoods  close 
by  had  not  yet  been  penetrated. 

"It  is  a  place  to  make  moccasins — what  you 

50 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

say  them? — shoes  for  the  horses.     Dougal  did 
give  me  one  corner  for  the  little  wild  things." 

The  door  was  wide  open,  and  Arthur  saw  a 
blacksmith's  forge  and  a  long  wooden  work 
bench,  with  a  multitudinous  array  of  carpenter's 
tools.  Everywhere,  in  more  or  less  confusion, 
was  the  usual  ranch  debris  of  old  whippletrees, 
gunny  sacks,  bits  of  harness,  mowing  machine 
knives  and  smashed  saddles.  In  one  corner  were 
several  woven  wire  cages  containing  Naya's  fam- 
ily of  "little  wild  things."  The  bright  black 
eyes  of  two  little  racoons  seemed  to  spy  her  first, 
and  they  immediately  began  to  wail  like  babies; 
but  when  she  slipped  in  a  few  bits  of  meat,  they 
hushed  their  cries  and  in  the  most  comical 
Biddy  Finnegan  manner,  began  to  souse  and 
scrub  them  in  a  pan  of  water  as  if  they  were  part 
of  the  Monday's  wash.  Their  next  door  neigh- 
bors were  three  tiny  pocket  mice,  all  of  which 
scuttled  like  lightning  into  Naya's  outstretched 
palm,  nibbling  with  frantic  haste  the  dried  sun- 
flower seeds  she  proffered  and,  with  most  com- 
mendable foresight,  cramming  the  little  outside 
pouches  of  their  cheeks  until  they  looked  as  if 
they  would  burst. 

SI 


NAYA 

^^Darling  mamma  tail  of  cotton,''  said  Naya, 
kneeling  before  the  third  cage  and  throwing  in 
fresh  grasses  and  willow  bark  to  a  timorous 
fluffy  cottontail  and  her  two  wee  babies,  which 
with  expressions  of  deepest  concentration  and 
earnestness,  ceaselessly  moved  their  tiny  trian- 
gular mouths. 

*^I  ken,  I  looked  like  them  when  I  neared  tha 
kirkyard  on  ma  way  to  Sabbath  shule  an'  was 
tryin'  not  to  forget  the  catechism,"  said  Dougal, 
as  they  went  into  the  open. 

"Gobble,  gobble,"  came  fiercely  from  around 
the  corner,  and  there  appeared  a  slatternly,  for- 
lorn old  veteran,  who  would  have  resembled  a 
dismantled  market  on  the  night  before  Christ- 
mas had  it  not  been  for  a  majesty  of  mien  before 
which  all  scornful  thoughts  shriveled  like  thistles 
in  a  frost.  In  his  wake  twinkled  a  half  dozen 
balls  of  peeping  yellow  down,  and  when  their 
protector  encountered  the  spectators  he  glared 
defiantly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Laugh  at  me  if  you 
like,  but  beware.  I  can  peck  out  eyes  as  well  as 
bite  tenpenny  nails." 

"It  is  Rag-tag  Moses,"  said  Naya,  "I  named 
him  for  the  so  kind  old  man  who  cared  for  the 

S3 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

garden  last  year.  He  loves  and  is  a  father  for 
the  chickies,  as  a  so  horrid  coyote  got  for  their 
mother.  He  not  angry.  He  only  afraid  we  make 
fun.  See,  he  know  to  dance."  Whereat  she  be- 
gan to  hum  a  plaintive  little  melody,  its  monot- 
onous tones  rising  and  falling  in  diminished 
thirds,  and,  keeping  her  eyes  on  her  venerable 
pupil,  fell  to  dancing  in  a  slow,  well  accented 
rhythm.  The  ancient  gobbler  looked  uncertain 
for  a  moment,  then,  proudly  lifting  his  withered 
old  crest  still  higher  and  spreading  his  dilapi- 
dated wings  and  tail,  he  actually  began  jigging 
from  side  to  side  in  perfect  time  to  the  music. 
The  audience  almost  died  laughing  at  the  clumsy 
old  idiot,  his  expression  now  being  one  of  grave- 
yard solemnity;  whereat  their  entertainer  sud- 
denly made  off  in  high  dudgeon,  followed  by  the 
flutter  of  his  adopted  children. 

"Now,  the  butterflies.  They  are  homesick  for 
their  sunshine  mother,"  said  Naya.  Dangling 
from  a  low,  wide  spreading  branch  was  an  enor- 
mous closely  woven  wire  cage,  the  door  of  which 
was  quickly  opened.  Instantly  a  great  flight  of 
butterflies,  gleaming  purple  and  gold  in  the  sun, 
flashed  about  the  child  in  airy  splendor,  some 

53 


NAYA 

lighting  on  her  outstretched  arms  and  radiant 
face,  others  balancing  their  painted  wings  in  her 
white  plumed  hair,  while  eddies  of  brilliant  gos- 
samer alternately  melted  in  the  dazzle  of  the 
morning  sky  or  fluttered  down  again  in  a  bewil- 
dering shower.  The  Butterfly  Siren  stood  in  this 
shimmering  rainbow  quite  unconscious  of  the 
exquisite  fantasy  of  her  appearance,  and  began 
calling  the  bits  of  color  by  name. 

"Red-Rain — tiny  beautiful,  fly  to  the  fairies. 
They  have  nothing  to  ride,'*  as  a  white-winged 
creature  flecked  with  crimson  lit  on  her  cheek. 

'^Oh,  there  you  are.  Dreamy  Dusky-Wing," 
recognizing  the  soft-toned  grays  and  lilacs  of 
another  little  friend.  And  to  a  lovely  blue  and 
silver,  basking  languidly  on  her  hand,  "Silver 
Spot,  did  you  drop  from  the  brush  of  the  Great 
Spirit  when  he  did  paint  the  sky?  Fly  to  your 
homes.  How,  how?"^  and  off  she  ran  through 
the  trees,  while  the  bright  patches  of  old  rose, 
and  tawny  orange,  and  vivid  green,  and  lustrous 
red  scattered  and  floated  out  toward  the  flower- 
embroidered  plains,  there  to  dip  their  gilded 
wings  in  the  dew  and  perfume  until  the  coming 
of  the  gray  days. 

1  Good-by,  good-by. 

54 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"  ^Bedouins  of  the  pathless  airV'  softly  quoted 
William,  watching  them  out  of  sight.  "It  is  so 
strange,"  turning  to  Arthur,  "she  has  the  most 
magical  way  of  catching  and  taming  these  wild 
creatures.  After  playing  with  them  a  bit  she  lets 
them  free,  and  nine  times  out  of  ten  they  hang 
around  the  ranch  and  come  to  her  as  fearlessly  as 
if  she  were  one  of  them.  The  house  is  simply 
over-run  with  owls  and  horned  toads  and  mag- 
pies, but  I  can  not  scold  her,  for  she  has  never 
had  any  other  playmates. 

"She  is  shure  a  leetle  witch.  I  ha  seen  her  wi' 
her  arms  fu*  o'  flowers  go  into  that  butterfly  cage 
an'  sit  there  by  the  oor,  an'  tha  leetle  critturs  a 
crawlin'  an'  a  flyin'  all  over  her.  Why  tha  ither 
mornin' — gudeness.  It's  Boockskin  Joe  on  tha 
mad  filly." 

From  the  corral  swept  a  perfect  hurricane  of 
dust,  in  the  middle  of  which  one  dimly  perceived 
a  heaving,  plunging  mass,  the  radiating  point  of 
flying  legs  and  tail  and  lariat  ends,  and  the  steady 
sweep  of  a  rawhide  quirt.  A  wide  sombrero  was 
seen  madly  touring  the  high  heavens,  and  a  pipe 
ripped  the  air  as  if  dispatched  by  wireless  teleg- 
raphy. 

55 


NAYA 

*'Stay  with  'er,  Joe" — ''Lick  the  daylights  out 
o'  the  little  devil" — "Much  obliged  for  your 
pipe" — came  the  cries  from  his  comrades,  who 
were  busily  preparing  for  their  own  cyclonic 
flights. 

Thwack  I  Thwack!  responded  the  lashing 
quirt,  and  the  rider  sat  his  pitching,  squealing 
broncho  with  as  much  apparent  comfort  and  ease 
as  if  reclining  in  a  wing  chair  on  a  porch 
of  tranquil  old  Virginia. 

"Jiminy  crickets!"  ejaculated  Arthur,  as  the 
blazing-eyed  little  monster  tore  past  him,  taking 
great  lunges  in  the  air  and  coming  down  with 
legs  as  stiff  as  steel  rails  and  bunched  together 
like  a  deer  slaying  a  rattlesnake. 

"She  weel  shure  throw  hersel',"  prophesied 
Dougal,  and  sure  enough,  the  desperate  creature 
took  one  frightful  leap  in  the  air  and  falling  over 
backwards  would  have  crushed  the  undaunted 
Joe  had  not  his  marvelous  agility  landed  him  be- 
yond the  reach  of  danger.  But  her  freedom  was 
short  lived,  for  no  sooner  did  she  struggle  to  her 
feet  than  she  found  herself  once  more  under  the 
stinging  quirt  and  sharp  spur.  This  time  the 
struggle  carried  them    far,    and,    bucking   and 

s6 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

kicking  with  every  breath,  they  soon  disappeared 
prairieward  in  a  billow  of  dust. 

"Are  ye  so  daft  noo  to  mount  tha  black 
beastie?"  asked  Dougal  of  Arthur. 

The  latter  felt  as  if  he  had  been  riddled  by 
chain  lightning,  so  greatly  was  he  shaken  by  the 
astounding  spectacle. 

"My  backbone  feels  a  little  chilly,"  he  ad- 
mitted, laughing,  "but  I  am  not  afraid.  If  he 
jumps  like  that  though,  there's  a  toflpy  can  in  my 
box  that  will  be  a  big  enough  coffin  for  all  that 
you  find  of  me." 

"Black  Alder  is  friendly  enough.  He  is  a  bit 
playful  at  times,  but  gentle  as  Naya's  cotton- 
tails," assured  William.  "Dougal  and  I  have  a 
busy  day  before  us,  and  Naya  will  show  you 
about  the  ranch.  Don't  let  her  go  north  into  the 
hills.  Ride  to  the  house  instantly  if  you  see 
even  one  horseman  approaching." 

The  boy  was  suddenly  recaptured  by  that  af- 
fliction of  afflictions — shyness,  for  the  thought  of 
going  off  alone  with  Naya  was  nothing  less  than 
terrifying;  but  he  rallied  a  little  under  the  sense 
of  responsibility  and  turned  to  a  lesson  in  saddle 
cinching.    When  he  mounted,  the  shining  Alder 


NAYA 

looked  back  questioningly,  but,  as  if  feeling  his 
friendly  intent  allied  to  the  Dunsmuir  courage, 
merely  gave  a  lit!tle  prance  or  two.  Pigeon 
and  Naya  having  completed  their  matinal  nose 
rubbing  and  general  rejoicing,  the  two  children 
rode  side  by  side  toward  the  sunlit  plains. 


S« 


CHAPTER  V 

Hark,  those  two  in  the  hazel  coppice — 
A  boy  and  a  girl,  if  the  good  fates  please, 


Let  them  pass,  as  they  will  too  soon, 
With  the  bean-flowers'  boon, 
And  the   blackbird's  tune, 
And  May,  and  June! 

Browning — "De  Gustibus." 

"Black  Alder  has  a  most  lovely  shine.  He  is 
like  the  so  queer  hat  that  Jack,  the  Tenderfoot 
did  show  me.  It  was  in  his  trunk  when  he  did 
come  from  the  East.  But  I  like  Pigeon  more 
better.  She  is  the  blue  clay  when  the  falling  leaf 
time  covers  it  with  frost." 

Arthur  stared  into  the  distance,  speechless, 
floundering  in  the  meshes  of  an  overwhelming 
confusion. 

"If  a  fellow  could  only  understand  what  she 
is  driving  at,"  he  thought  miserably.  "She  seems 
perfectly  bully,  so  friendly  and  unconscious, 
most  as  nice  as  a  boy,  but  you  sure  need  a  pony 
to  translate  her.    Tenderfoot!     I  have  heard  of 

59 


NAYA 

tender  beefsteaks  and  tender  feelings,  but  tender- 
foot is  a  new  one  on  me,  and  as  for  that  other 
nonsense — Pigeon  and  clay  and  falling  leaves." 

Pretty  soon  Naya  tried  again. 

"I  count  but  thirteen  snows.    Can  you  more?" 

Silence.  She  let  the  question  pass  and  leaned 
forward  to  rest  her  cheek  on  Pigeon's  mane.  For 
several  seconds  she  musingly  observed  her  new 
playfellow,  who,  in  brand-new  sombrero  and 
brand-new  tweed  tucked  into  brand-new  boots, 
still  sat  wrapped  in  painful  silence. 

"I  hope  you  find  no  hurt,"  she  began  politely, 
"but  I  know  a  so  nice  trade  and  I  will  show 
you  to  ride  more  better  and  you  will  help  me  to 
speak  the  English  more  better — betterer?"  she 
added  in  questioning  correction. 

"Better,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Oh,  to  speak  the  English  better  better." 

"No,  plain  better." 

"How  most  stupid  I  am.  To  speak  the  Eng- 
lish plain  better." 

At  this  the  boy  gulped  and  heaved  with  sup- 
pressed laughter,  and  tried  to  think  of  his  Sun- 
day school  teacher's  funeral  and  of  the  day  Phil 
Hamilton  almost  put  his  eye  out  with  a  spit  ball. 

60 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Oh,"  she  said  coldly,  "you  laugh  at  me,"  for 
the  involuntary  signs  of  merriment  had  not  es- 
caped her  quick  eyes. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  his  innate  cour- 
tesy finally  loosening  his  tongue.  "I — I  thought 
of  a  funny  story.  Once  a  boy  hit  me  in  the  eye 
with  a — a  piece  of  paper,  so  when  school  was  out, 
I  gave  him  a  thumping,  and  he  said  he  would 
give  me  his  new  knife  if  I  would  stop." 

"Is  it  a  very  bad  hurt  to  have  the  eye  hit  with 
paper?" 

"Well,"  he  said  blushing,  fearful  of  making 
an  indelicate  statement,  "you  see  this  had  been — 
chewed  and  was  awful  hard." 

"Oh  I  Where  may  be  the  new  knife  he  did 
give  you?" 

"I  didn't  take  his  knife.  I  just  went  away  and 
left  him." 

"What  a  so  queer  game  thumping  must  be. 
Was  it  in  Westmoreland — in  Clifdale?" 

"Yes.    I  have  lived  there  all  my  life." 

"Please  tell  of  it,  of  the  house  and  the  garden 
and  of  English  grandmother." 

There  came  a  sudden  image  of  the  Westmore- 
land   summer    he    had    just    left;    the    snov^ 

6i 


NAYA 

Streamers  of  cloud  floating  high  over  the  old 
gray  gabled  house  in  its  setting  of  ancient  oak, 
and  craggy  fell,  and  barren  moor. 

"It  is  a  half  mile  from  Clifdale,  you  know, 
and  is  awful  old  and  weather-beaten — the  house, 
I  mean.  Mother — we  all  live  there  now — wanted 
to  have  nice  new  furniture,  but  Uncle  William 
and  father  like  the  old  chairs  and  curtains  and 
things  best.  My  word,  though,  but  they  are 
faded.    Isn't  it  getting  hot?" 

"Go  on,"  said  Naya,  who,  despite  having 
heard  her  father's  old  home  described  a  hundred 
times,  hung  breathless  on  each  word. 

"Sometimes  the  gulls  fly  in  from  the  sea,  and 
oh — you  would  like  the  flowers.  In  the  spring 
the  hills  are  just  yellow  with  daffodils,  and 
grandmother  has  a  beautiful  garden.  In  the 
center  is  the  funniest  old  sun  dial,  all  covered 
with  red  roses,  and  she  has  two  of  the  rickiest  old 
horses  that  drag  her  around  the  country  in  a 
regular  Methusaleh  of  a  landau.  I  guess  Uncle 
William  didn't  find  Clifdale  very  exciting,  so  he 
came  to  America.  There  are  four  of  us  children, 
you  know,  and  we  all  think  it  is  mighty  good  of 
him  to  bring  me  here  and  teach  me  ranching." 

62  > 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Naya  delighted  in  his  expansiveness,  for  in 
spite  of  her  immaturity  and  crown  of  "thirteen 
snows,'^  she  had  recognized  his  paralyzing  shy- 
ness with  secret  sympathy,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
result  of  her  friendly  approaches.  So  they  rode 
on  and  on  through  the  golden  day,  he  describing 
and  glorifying  in  his  rough  boy  fashion  the 
beautiful  little  corner  of  old  England,  while  she 
chattered  quaintly  of  the  mighty  ranch  and  of 
the  fascinations  of  wigwam  life.  There  were 
interluding  lessons  in  horsemanship,  given  in 
such  a  diffident  way  that  no  boy,  however  in- 
flated w^ith  the  importance  of  fourteen  years, 
could  have  taken  offense. 

"The  fingers  just  so,  and  the  left  hand  always, 
as  the  right  is  for  the  sometimes  so  necessary 
quirt.  You  sit  most  straight  and  splendid," 
with  admiring  approval,  "I  have  the  so  bad  habit 
of  leaning  to  Pigeon's  neck  to  make  her  run.  It 
is  most  disgracious." 

Then  they  called  upon  the  inmates  of  "Happy 
Town,"  and  there  were  multitudes  of  little  races 
to  this  sagebrush  and  that  bleaching  buffalo 
skull,  until  midday  found  them  many  miles  from 
home. 

63 


NAYA 

"No  matter,"  said  Naya,  "for  Hannah  did 
give  me  some  biscuits.  The  river  is  near.  We 
will  find  the  shade  of  the  willow." 

While  they  were  nibbling  their  little  beaten 
biscuits,  for  Hannah  was  from  Kentucky,  and 
washing  them  down  with  water  from  the  river, 
which  *a  heavy  winter  and  an  unusually  late 
spring  had  left  swollen  and  turbulent,  Naya 
suddenly  said: 

"The  heat  is  most  queer,  and  the  wind  and  the 
sky.    A  little  tail  of  the  first  hot  wind,  perhaps." 

"Oughtn't  we  to  go  home  now?"  asked 
Arthur,  who,  although  he  was  having  "just  the 
time  of  his  life,"  felt  a  little  uneasy  at  this  pro- 
longed vagabondage. 

"Yes,  yes,  soon.  But  first  to  race  the  little 
antelope.    It  flies  as  a  swallow.    Quickly!" 

Being  to  the  windward,  the  unsuspecting 
creatures  had  fed  to  a  swell  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  children.  Away  they  all  went,  the 
little  prong  horned  "swallows"  far  in  the  lead 
and  skimming  the  hills  like  gray  phantoms. 

"It  is  like  crossing  a  furnace,"  thought  Arthur. 

As  far  as  sight  could  reach,  the  heat  rose 
from  the  thick  scorched  grass  in  faint  dizzy  spi- 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

rals,  and  the  sweeping  wind  was  so  hot  that  Ar- 
thur's eyes  burned  like  coals  of  fire,  while  over- 
head the  sky  became  a  ghastly  shroud  of  dull 
copper  color;  but  on  they  raced,  Arthur  taking 
to  his  new  mode  of  transportation  like  a  seasoned 
cowboy.  Suddenly  Naya's  muscular  little  arms 
jerked  Pigeon  almost  to  her  haunches. 

"Steea,"  ^  she  cried  wildly,  as  the  impetuous 
Black  Alder  swept  past  her.  Simultaneously 
with  their  riders  the  horses  cast  one  glance  into 
the  southwest,  now  a  rushing  wall  of  fire;  then 
they  wheeled  and  tore  madly  down  the  wind. 

*The  river  1  The  river  1"  called  Naya,  looking 
back  with  blanched  face  and  eyes  wide  open 
dread. 

Only  those  who  have  viewed  the  sublime  but 
frightful  spectacle  of  a  prairie  fire  can  realize 
its  magnificence  and  its  terror.  It  was  like  the 
Sea  of  Judgment  Day,  a  rocking  liquid  mass  of 
flame,  now  obscured  by  great  columns  of  black 
smoke,  now  revealing  wild  and  hideous  arms 
which  struck  at  the  heavens  as  if  menacing  the 
very  universe  with  eternal  destruction.  Nearer 
and  ever  nearer  it  came;  its  merciless  accom- 

1  Fire. 

65 


NAYA 

plice,  the  Wind  Demon,  madly  tossing  his  hair 
of  flame,  and  seeming  to  shriek  his  triumph  with 
every  blast  of  smoke  and  cinders.  The  horses 
panted  with  exhaustion,  but  struggled  on,  know- 
ing that  to  slacken  meant  death. 

"How  glad  to  have  left  Baby  Kickapoo!" 
darted  through  Naya's  mind.  A  motley  herd  of 
antelope  and  wolves  and  coyotes,  headed  by  a 
great  antlered  deer,  swept  past  them  through  the 
thickening  smoke,  old  and  bitter  enmities  being 
forgotten  in  the  mutual  peril. 

"Can  we  make  it?"  shouted  Arthur,  who,  pale 
but  self  controled,  was  trying  to  keep  close  to 
Naya. 

"Neetasta,"  ^  she  said,  shivering,  although  she 
could  feel  the  breath  of  the  hungry  monster  close 
at  her  back  and  the  sparks  fell  about  them  like 
hot  rain.  The  stampeding  herd  was  already 
plunging  into  the  water. 

"In  another  minute,"  thought  the  heaving 
Black  Alder,  his  eyes  on  the  cool  haven,  when  a 
treacherous  badger  hole  caught  his  foot  and  he 
fell  violently  to  the  ground,  rolling  over  and  over 
and  throwing  his  rider  far  over  his  head.  Before 


1  "I  think  so." 

66 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Arthur  could  catch  him  he  was  up  and  in  the 
river. 

"Can  you  swim?"  asked  Naya,  struggling  to 
stop  Pigeon. 

"No,"  he  groaned,  "but  no  matter.  Go  on. 
Naya,  do  hurry." 

"But  you  burn  or  drown,"  she  wailed,  noting 
the  tall  grass  and  the  depth  of  the  river,  and 
swiftly  slipping  to  the  ground,  she  pulled  him 
toward  the  horse.    "I  swim  most  often." 

"I  shall  not,"  he  said,  trying  to  lift  her  to  the 
saddle. 

"Oh,  Arthur,"  she  sobbed,  "it  right  here.  We 
both  die.    Go!    Go!" 

Seeing  that  he  imperiled  her  safety  by  linger- 
ing, he  some  way  managed  to  scramble  on  the 
now  plunging  and  almost  unmanageable  Pigeon 
and  was  soon  out  of  harm's  way. 

Moaning,  "Christecoom!  ^  Christecoom,"  the 
little  girl  frantically  tore  off  her  dress,  for  she 
knew  that  the  current  would  drag  her.  As  she 
ran  in  petticoat  and  underwaist  to  the  water's 
edge,  a  flaming  brand  of  dry  cottonwood  struck 
one  of  the  slim  brown  arms,  and  with  a  little  cry 


2  "The  Great  Spirit." 

67 


NAYA 

of  pain  she  dropped  into  the  water  and  sank 
out  of  sight.  When  she  rose  to  the  surface,  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  shore,  she  noticed 
that  Pigeon  was  swimming  low  with  a  look  of 
distress  in  her  almost  human  eyes. 

"Pull  not  the  rein,"  she  called,  "and  sit  most 
still  or  she  will  roll.    Wet  your  head." 

Then  down  she  went  again.  When  she  came 
up  the  second  time  they  were  drifting  to  an  island 
two  thirds  of  the  way  across,  and  were  now  com- 
paratively safe,  although  the  smoke  and  sparks 
still  poured  over  them.  Naya  sank  in  mute  pain 
on  the  edge  of  the  willow-thicketed  sand  bar. 

"Your  arm,"  exclaimed  Arthur,  dropping  to 
his  knees  beside  her  and,  in  his  consternation, 
letting  go  the  rein.  Pigeon  gave  one  swift  look 
at  the  ravaging  enemy  which  roared  up  and 
down  the  shore  like  a  baffled  beast  of  prey,  and 
seeing  the  runaway  Alder  climbing  the  opposite 
shore,  she  took  a  speedy  and  unceremonious 
departure. 

"If  the  island  burns,  then  both  are  lost,"  said 
Naya,  watching  her  sadly,  while  Arthur  felt 
like  beating  his  head  on  die  sands.    "My  arm,  I 


can  swim  not  more." 


68 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

The  poor  child's  hardy  little  frame  suddenly 
collapsed  under  its  burden  of  pain,  and  exhaus- 
tion, and  terror,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
she  completely  lost  consciousness.  Arthur 
thought  she  was  dead  and  fell  dumb  beside  her. 
When  she  came  to,  she  found  herself  lying  shel- 
tered from  the  wind  and  smoke  on  a  bed  of  dry, 
thick  grass. 

"I  thought  you  were  dead  and  carried  you 
here,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice.  "Let  me  band- 
age your  arm,  and  then  you  must  put  my  coat 
on,  for  you  are  shivering.  The  fire  is  dying  fast 
and  there  is  no  more  danger." 

"Arthur,"  she  said  slowly,  watching  him  tear 
his  handkerchief,  "you  would  stay  and  be  burned 
for  my  safeness.  I  forget  not.  I  love  you  al- 
ways next  to  father  and  mother  and  Dougal  and 
Hannah — and  Len,  perhaps." 

"Who's  Len?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  Len — is  Len,"  was  the  musing  reply. 

Arthur  inwardly  decided  that  he  was  pretty 
far  down  the  line,  but  he  felt  the  honor  of  the 
sixth  place,  nevertheless,  and  exclaimed  with  a 
burst  of  boyish  enthusiasm, 

"Just  think  what  you  did  for  me.    I  tell  you, 

69 


NAYA 

you  are  just  too  bully  for  anything,  and  I — I 
simply  adore  you."  Whereat  he  blushed  crimson 
to  find  himself  actually  speaking  that  love-mak- 
ing word  that  he  never  dreamed  could  be  used 
outside  of  print. 

"If  I  could  only  get  closer  than  number 
six!"  he  thought. 

The  afternoon  wore  slowly  away. 

"Oh,  to  be  able  to  swim!"  he  groaned,  "then  I 
could  walk  to  the  ranch  and  bring  back  a  horse. 
There's  heaps  of  water  in  Westmoreland,  you 
know,  but  mother  always  made  such  everlasting 
babies  of  us  kids,  and  we  couldn't  go  in  above 
our  ankles." 

"Father  will  come,"  she  said,  "but  I  think 
Pigeon  and  Alder  go  not  home  until  the  great 
darkness  falls.  They  suppose  us  at  the  far  other 
ranch,  perhaps." 

The  rayless  sun,  like  a  blood- red,  misshapen 
monster,  sank  into  the  west  and,  with  a  livid 
leer  at  the  blackened  land,  disappeared  into  a 
nether  world;  while  the  wind,  heaving  the 
ghastly  sigh  of  a  tormented  soul,  followed  in  its 
wake.  All  the  world  lay  shadowed  in  deepest 
violet,  and  overhead  the  Angel  of  Evening  had 

70 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Strewn  the  purple  depths  as  with  a  handful  of 
lustrous  pearls. 

"Perhaps  we  make  a  fire,"  suggested  Naya, 
"then  father  sees,  and  the  wolves  come  not." 

"But  I  have  no  matches,"  he  replied  mourn- 
fully. "Naya,  if  you  will  only  forgive  me,  I  will 
learn  to  swim  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  I  hope  I 
may  die  if  I  ever  stir  again  without  matches." 

He  wondered  at  her  fortitude,  for  since  her 
sobbing  entreaties  on  the  shore,  she  had  neither 
complained  nor  wept. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  as  the  night  deepened 
around  them,  "that  I  put  my  head  in  your  lap  and 
sleep  a  little.  The  arm  is  most  well  with  the 
soothing  medicine  leaves,  and  I  am  most  tired." 

After  he  had  made  her  as  comfortable  as  pos- 
sible, she  said  sweetly,  "It  is  as  with  mother. 
I  had  often  my  head  in  her  lap,  and  we  talked  of 
the  flowers  and  the  birds.  She  told  me  so  sweet 
little  stories  of  them.  I  see  her  always.  She  is 
most  lovely — more  than  the  song  of  the  meadow 
lark  in  the  Moon  of  Flowers.  And  her  eyes!  It 
is  so  strange,"  she  continued  in  a  mystical  whis- 
per. "I  sec  always  a  dim  far,  far  country  and 
a  great  mountain  to  reach  the  sky.    It  has  a  so 


NAYA 

white  light  streaming  up — up.  I  think  it  is  not 
fire,  but  a  spirit.  That  is  her  eyes.  She  knew 
not  the  books  as  father,  but  she  so  loved  the  flow- 
ers that  I  have  seen  her  tears  fall  to  the  violets 
and  the  white  columbine,  as  she  knelt  to  them 
in  the  forest.'* 

Finally  she  slept,  and  Arthur  sat  quiet  and  full 
of  wonder.  How  different  it  all  was  from  Eng- 
land! What  a  strange  life,  and  what  strange 
people! 

A  far-away  cry  came  over  the  hills,  and  he 
aroused  himself  abruptly. 

"Naya,"  he  said,  it  is  your  father,  I  think!" 
His  loud  "Halloo"  was  answered  repeatedly,  the 
sound  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and  almost  be- 
fore she  knew  it,  Naya  was  in  her  father's  arms. 

"Baby  child!  Baby  child!"  he  repeated  again 
and  again,  clasping  her  as  if  he  would  never  let 
her  go. 

Meanwhile  Dougal  recounted  to  Arthur  how 
they  had  been  from  home  all  day  in  the  northern 
hills,  and  Hannah,  thinking  the  children  had 
joined  them,  had  experienced  no  alarm  over  their 
absence.  The  two  men  rode  in  at  nightfall 
just  as  the  riderless  horses  crossed  the  river,  and 

72 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

their  agonized  anxiety  during  their  three  hours 
search  may  well  be  imagined.  They  had  led  two 
fresh  horses  with  them,  and  plunging  into  the 
dark  waters,  the  party  soon  emerged  upon  the 
blackened  and  devastated  plain.  It  lay  vast  and 
still,  its  flowered  tapestry  a  thing  of  yesterday, 
and  under  the  wan  sheen  of  the  newly  risen  moon, 
it  appeared  as  the  bitter,  tragic  waters  of  a  Dead 
Sea.  Here  and  there  slunk  the  gaunt  shadows  of 
coyotes  that  had  returned  to  feed  on  the  charred 
remains  of  their  less  fortunate  fellows. 

Despite  their  thankful  and  relieved  hearts,  the 
ride  home  was  dispirited  and  silent.  Naya  was 
so  exhausted  that  William  lifted  her  to  his  horse 
and,  leaping  to  a  seat  behind  the  high  cantle  of 
the  old  Spanish  saddle,  held  her  with  one  hand 
and  guided  with  the  other. 

Fortunately,  the  great  iron  gray,  Rajah,  real- 
ized that  it  was  an  occasion  for  magnanimity 
and  decent  behavior,  and  accepted  his  load  with 
patience. 

Their  arrival  at  midnight  found  them  so  spent 
that  the  waiting  Hannah  asked  few  questions,  but 
directing  Dougal  to  the  broth  and  biscuits  she 
had  prepared,  she  undressed  the  little  girl  and 

73 


NAYA 

laid  her  in  the  snowy  linen  of  the  little  pine  bed. 

"It  is  the  heaven/'  said  the  child  softly,  kissing 
the  motherly  hand  that  bandaged  her  arm 

After  a  cup  of  broth  she  fell  into  a  deep  sleep, 
but  soon  awakened,  moaning  with  pain  and 
fever,  and  Hannah  and  her  father  did  not  sur- 
render her  to  Dougal's  care  until  she  was  finally 
quiet  and  the  morning  star  glimmered  palely 
through  the  trees. 


CHAPTER  VI 

They    waste    us — ay — like    April    snow 
In  the  warm  noon,  we  shrink  away ; 

And  fast  they  follow,  as  we  go 
Toward  the  setting  day — 

Till  they  shall  fill  the  land,  and  we 

Are  driven  into  the  Western  sea. 
Bryant — An  Indian  at  the  Burial-Place  of  His  Fathers. 

The  lovely  Summer  Lady  had  vanished  with 
the  swallows  to  idle  under  sapphire  skies  in  the 
land  of  olive  and  jessamine,  but  the  fragrance  of 
her  sweet  soul  and  her  flower-strewn  robes  lin- 
gered in  the  soft  October  air  like  dream  music 
in  the  memory.  The  cottonwoods  and  poplars 
were  torches  of  pure  pale  gold  streaming  sky- 
ward, and  here  and  there  splashes  of  crimson 
spoke  from  the  river  shore  or  the  dun  colored 
bluffs.  Far  to  the  south  the  bloomless  plains, 
already  settling  to  their  winter  sleep,  drifted  to 
the  horizon  under  a  film  of  faintest  lavender. 

But  in  the  house  of  the  Circle-Arrow  Ranch 
it  was  as  if  Spring  danced  on  the  hill  tops. 
Naya  was  well  again. 

75 


NAYA 

"I  *11  hang  my  harp  on  a  weeping  willow  tree-e-e 
And  may  the  world  go  well  with  thee-e-e," 

joyously  screeched  the  new  hired  girl  in  the 
kitchen,  as  she  banged  the  dishes  in  the  sink. 
Hannah  bent  over  a  little  omelet  on  the  stove. 

"In  another  week  you  and  your  Veeping  wil- 
low tree'  will  go  back  to  Wind  River,"  she 
thought  grimly,  wincing  under  the  discordant 
din. 

"Lor'  ma'm,  if  it  ain't  that  young  spark  from 
pa's  ranch." 

Whereat,  the  excited  song  bird  wiped  her 
hands  on  the  roller  towel  and,  rushing  to  the  little 
mirror  by  the  window,  began  to  pull  at  her  tousle 
of  dusty  black  hair.  With  a  furtive  glance  at 
Hannah,  she  spat  on  her  eyebrows  and  pinched 
her  already  burstingly  red  cheeks,  in  a  deter- 
mination to  be  beautiful,  whatever  the  means  or 
cost.  Hannah  waived  severity  in  consideration 
of  the  pending  banishment,  and  observed  with 
amusement  the  frantic  preliminaries  of  the  Wind 
River  belle.  On  her  way  to  the  milk  house, 
built  over  a  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  butte,  she 
met  the  conquering  hero.  He  was  a  bronze 
faced  youngster  of  twenty,  and  wore  his  cow- 

76 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

puncher  regalia  of  fringed  "shaps,"  and  jingling 
spurs,  and  drooping  sombrero  with  the  air  of  one 
who  had  been  born  to  them. 

"Good  morning,  Len  Douglas,"  she  said 
cheerily.  "If  you  have  brought  Naya  anything 
that  crawls,  I  shall  drown  you  in  the  spring." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Warren,"  he  replied,  pulling  oflf 
his  broad-brimmed  hat,  while  his  handsome 
brown  face  became  all  smiles  and  white  teeth, 
"the  idear  of  such  cruelty.  I  got  these  here 
pictures  from  back  home  yesterday,  and  I 
thought  maybe  she  would  like  'em,  and  the 
leaves  is  surely  harmless  enough;  they  don't 
crawl  nor  eat  up  crocheted  shawls."  And  he  held 
up  for  inspection  a  big  bunch  of  scarlet  sumac 
and  a  folder  of  photographs  which  reached  its 
full  length  with  a  clatter,  revealing  yards  of 
Faneuil  Hall  and  Bunker  Hill  monument  lying 
prone  on  their  brown  glossy  sides.  Hannah  was 
admiring,  but  hurried  on,  saying  mischievously 
over  her  shoulder, 

"Don't  get  lost  in  the  kitchen  and  forget  your 
way  to  Naya's  room." 

This  ardent  and  flirtatious  young  swain  had  no 
intention  of  slighting  the   bird-in-hand   oppor- 

77 


NAYA 

tunity  which  awaited  him,  for  was  not  this  coun- 
try of  desolation  devoid  of  even  birds  in  the 
bushes?  Were  there  not  a  hundred  cow-punchers 
scattered  on  ranch  and  range  to  one  girl  singing 
in  the  kitchen?  Even  a  facile,  heavy  beauty 
from  Wind  River  was  better  than  nothing,  he 
decided;  but  partly  to  torment,  partly  because 
he  was  really  anxious  to  see  the  child,  the  news 
of  whose  illness  had  torn  across  the  country 
faster  than  the  fire,  he  deliberately  passed  the 
kitchen  window  and  went  around  to  the  sitting 
room  door.  With  a  courtesy  and  fine  feeling 
that  contrasted  sharply  with  his  reckless  reputa- 
tion, he  awaited  Hannah's  coming,  and  they 
mounted  the  steps  together. 

The  strangely  beautiful  room  was  flooded  with 
sunshine,  and  Naya,  in  a  little  wrapper  of  warm 
red,  sat  by  the  window  with  an  open  book  on  her 
knee.  The  porcupine  lay  torpid  on  the  sill  and 
her  inseparable  shadows,  Sahkee  and  Tweed, 
snuggled  for  the  best  place  on  the  fur  rug  close  to 
her  feet.  The  intermittent  but  ravaging  fever  of 
the  past  three  months  had  lifted  the  sunbrown 
from  her  delicately  featured  face  and  left  it  a 
dusky  cream,  with  a  touch  of  glowing  autumn 

78 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

leaf  under  the  sweet  dark  eyes.  The  glorious 
hair,  which  had  been  miraculously  spared,  fell 
over  her  shoulders  and  the  arm  of  the  great 
chair,  purple-black  in  the  shadow,  with  glints 
of  bronze  where  the  sun  touched  it.  She  was 
playing  with  it  absently,  dipping  her  hands  into 
the  soft  depths  and  lifting  the  strands  until  they 
separated  and  cobwebbed  against  the  sun.  But 
her  thoughts  were  not  of  her  hair.  She  looked 
at  the  book  with  eyes  full  of  sadness  and  wonder. 

"What  is  it?'*  asked  Hannah,  preceding  Len 
with  the  tray. 

"Maggie  Tulliver,"  she  murmured,  "Maggie 
Tulliver." 

"No,  sir,  the  lady  is  unknown  to  these  parts," 
said  Len,  showering  her  with  his  offering,  "It's 
the  Old  South  Meetin'  House  and  Powder  River 
shrubbery." 

She  caught  at  the  flying  scarlet  leaves  and  the 
ziz-zag  of  old  Boston  landmarks  with  an  expres- 
sion of  delight,  for,  despite  his  belonging  to  an- 
other ranch,  she  and  the  young  cow-puncher 
were  fast  friends.  One  day  he  had  accidentally 
come  upon  her  at  a  spring,  trying  to  plaster  with 
mud  a  rattlesnake  bite  on  poor  Pigeon's  swollen 

79 


NAYA 

leg,  and  his  efficient  aid  had  won  her  lasting 
gratitude  and  affection. 

"How. most  pretty,  Len,"  she  exclaimed,  "it 
was  kind  to  you  to  come  so  far.  Oh,  Hannah,  you 
darling,  you  knew  that  I  am  as  a  little  wolf  for 
hunger  and  could  not  wait  until  the  dinner.  Oh, 
the  omelet  which  would  fly  as  a  feather  to  the 
wind — and  milk — and  apricot  tart.  Me  likee, 
me  likee,"  she  ended  in  gleeful  imitation  of  old 
"High  Binder,"  as  the  cow-punchers  called  See 
Yup,  the  bunk  house  cook.  Hannah  put  the 
tray  on  a  small  table  at  Naya's  elbow  and  left  her 
to  Len,  whom  they  all  knew  and  trusted,  not- 
withstanding his  wild,  half  desperado  reputation. 

"He's  a  scalawag  of  the  first  water,"  said  old 
Hartwell  of  Triangle,  a  week  since,  when  he  and 
William  met  on  the  beef  round-up.    "He's  been 

to  Cheyenne  on  a  d tear,  and  he  has  such  a 

fetchin'  way  that  he  dragged  half  the  other  boys 
along.  I  hear  he  got  into  a  shoptin'  match  over 
a  girl  and  put  the  other  feller  out  of  commission 
for  a  month  of  Sundays.  But  an  honester  cuss 
IVe  never  seed,  and  he's  that  willin'  and  that 
capable  that  when  he  come  back  I  just  took  him 

80 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

in  again  as  if  he'd  been  to  Sunday  school  a  be- 
havin'  hisself." 

He  certainly  bore  that  story  no  resemblance 
to-day.  His  thick  brown  hair  was  the  climax  of 
all  that  is  smooth  and  shiny,  this  really  marvelous 
feat  having  been  accomplished  in  a  remote  cor- 
ner of  the  bunk  house  with  the  aid  of  a  fine  tooth 
comb  and  the  "ship's  hairbrush."  His  blue  flan- 
nel shirt  was  spick  and  span,  as  was  the  red  silk 
handkerchief  knotted  around  his  neck,  and  his 
young  hazel  eyes  wore  an  expression  of  almost 
childlike  content,  as  he  deftly  made  a  wreath  of 
the  autumn  leaves  for  Naya's  hair  and  talked 
about  the  mud  flats  of  Revere. 

"They  ain't  just  mud  all  the  time,  you  know. 
By  and  by  the  tide  comes  in  and  then  it's  like  a 
bay,  and  when  it's  dark  and  them  lights  is  on  the 
point  there,  I  tell  you  it's  just  rummy.  And  the 
smell!  Gosh  all  fish  hooks!  Excuse  me,"  he 
said,  reddening  to  the  domain  of  the  shiny  hair, 
"but  it  is  awful  nice,"  and  his  eulogy  ended 
somewhat  lamely. 

"What  is  the  tide?"  questioned  Naya,  eyeing 
the  growing  chaplet  as  she  gulped  her  milk  and 

8i 


NAYA 

ate  her  apricot  tart  with  the  appetite  of  con- 
valescing childhood. 

"Well,  you  see  the  old  ocean  just  tips  and  spills 
over  like  a  waterin'  trough  in  a  fit.  Here's  your 
bonnet." 

"No,  you  arrange  it  to  my  head,"  said  Naya, 
looking  up  with  her  deep,  lovely  gaze. 

He  let  the  wreath  fall,  trying  not  to  touch  her 
hair,  he  knew  not  why,  and  as  he  turned  away 
he  said  to  himself, 

"I   guess  you've  spreed  'bout  long  enough^ 

Len  Douglas,  you  good  for  nothing  son . 

I  guess  you're  hittin  the  trail  for  h as  fast  as 

you  can  go,  and  it's  time  you  was  puttin'  on  the 
brakes." 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  William 
entered. 

"Hello,  Len,"  he  said,  slapping  the  young 
cow-puncher  on  the  back.  "See  Yup  wanted  me 
to  give  you  a  package  for  him,"  turning  to  Naya, 
"but  I  told  him  to  bring  it  himself.  Come  in, 
Yup." 

The  Chinese  cook  stood  in  the  doorway,  his 
yellow  moon  face  and  almond  eyes  grinning 
delight  with  the  world  in  general  and  himself  in 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

particular.  He  had  uncoiled  his  "lariat,"  as 
the  boys  called  it,  and  it  now  pigtailed  almost  to 
his  heels  in  a  thin  stiff  braid.  Instead  of  his 
usual  white  apron,  he  was  arrayed  in  elegant  call- 
ing costume,  consisting  of  a  round  black  hat, 
about  two  sizes  too  small  for  him,  and  a  loose- 
sleeved  shirt  affair  that  Naya,  in  secret  embar- 
rassment and  sympathy,  always  felt  he  had  neg- 
lected to  tuck  in. 

"Me  no  plitty  Melican  plesents.  Me  sendee 
San  Flisco — blothee  little  shop.  No  velly 
nicee,"  and  he  handed  the  child  a  package  from 
which  fell  an  exquisite  silken  fan,  its  sticks  of 
creamy  ivory  carved  and  fretted  into  a  sem- 
blance of  old  lace.  On  one  side  was  embroidered 
a  little  Asiatic  garden ;  a  tiny  brown  pagoda  fes- 
tooned with  wisteria,  a  row  of  purple  iris,  and 
a  gorgeous  peacock,  while  a  leaning  cherry  tree 
showered  all  with  its  delicate  pink  petals. 

"Ohl"  she  breathed  in  rapture,  "one  feels  the 
wind  to  blow  the  petals.  And  this!" — and  she 
slipped  the  little  bracelet  of  jade  over  her  hand. 

"How  most  sweet  to  you.  See  Yup,  to  so  re- 
member me.  I  make  a  hat  band  of  so  pretty 
beads.    May  I  arrange  it  to  your  hat?" 

83 


NAYA 

"Muchee  thanks,  muchee  thanks,"  he  kept  re- 
peating in  ecstasy,  as  she  fastened  the  bright  strip 
around  the  crown,  "to-day  ketchum  heap  good 
jelly  cake.  Clow-punchee  like  'em  heap.  I 
blingee,"  and  off  he  went  in  the  little  round  hat 
with  its  incongruous  Indian  finery,  bliss  plainly 
emanating  from  every  feature. 

"The  generous  fellow  really  thinks  he  is  in- 
debted to  you,"  remarked  her  father,  examining 
the  beautiful  and  rare  embroidery. 

"Well,  so  long,"  said  Len,  who,  unperceived, 
had  hardly  taken  his  eyes  from  the  gracious  little 
being  in  the  chair,  and  before  they  knew  it  he 
was  gone, 

"Yes,"  his  thoughts  continued  as  he  took  his 
way  through  the  cottonwoods  toward  the  stable, 
never  once  glancing  kitchenward,  "it's  about 
time  you  pried  open  your  blinkers  and  dried 
up  on  the  whisky  question — and  a  few  other 
things." 

"Will  ye  no  be  havin'  a  bite  wi'  tha  fouks  a' 
tha  hoose?"  questioned  Dougal,  who  now  rode 
into  the  corral,  accompanied  by  Arthur. 

"Nope,  got  to  vamoose.  Old  Hartwell's  been 
primin  his  pea  shooter ;  it's  a  twenty-two.  Sweet 

84 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

baby  I  I'm  goin'  to  buy  it  a  pink  sash  and  some 
booties,"  and  off  he  galloped  toward  the  Trian- 
gle Ranch,  which  lay  far  the  other  side  of  the 
Bighorns. 

"Dire  necessity,"  Hannah's  appellation  for  the 
Wind  River  beauty,  gazed  with  chagrin  out  of 
the  window  and  saw  him  disappear  in  a  whirl  of 
dust. 

"Blast  his  bones,"  she  muttered  fiercely,  "FU 
get  even,  you  bet  your  sweet  life." 

Hannah  overheard  and  it  was  the  last  straw. 

"Mr.  Dunsmuir,"  she  said,  calling  him  into  the 
sitting  room,  "I  have  dismissed  Daisy.  As  you 
know,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  I  prefer  to 
care  for  the  house  alone,  and  Naya  is  almost 
well  now.  Dougal  said  he  would  drive  me  to 
Buffalo  this  afternoon  to  do  some  errands,  and 
I  thought  it  a  good  chance  for  her  to  get  started 
on  her  homeward  journey." 

William  looked  thoughtful  a  moment,  then 
finally  replied,  "I  have  to  ride  over  to  Crazy 
Woman  Creek  this  afternoon,  and  Naya — but 
there  is  Arthur,  of  course.  He  will  stay  with  her, 
and  Old  Tom  is  working  in  the  shop  to-day. 
All  right,  Hannah,  but  you  must  let  See  Yup 

85 


NAYA 

help  you  out.  Have  him  do  your  cleaning  and 
bread-making.    I  will  speak  to  him." 

As  Arthur  sat  at  the  dinner  table  narrating  the 
morning's  adventures,  his  uncle  recalled  the 
w^ords  of  the  observant  Dougal,  spoken  a  few 
days  after  their  arrival  from  England. 

"Ken  ye  tha  lines  of  Oliver  Holmes  of  Massa- 
chusetts? *rd  rather  be  a  bright-haired  boy, 
than  reign  a  gray-beard  king.'  Fm  a  thinkin' 
on  'em  each  time  I  look  at  yon  lad.  He's  shure 
green  as  spring  grass,  but  he's  got  tha  grit  of  a 
Texas  steer  and  a  gude  hert.  That's  tha  princi- 
pal thing,  a  gude  hert.  Just  because  he  heard 
tha  leetle  wan  a  callin'  after  her  butterflies  in 
her  fever,  naethin  wud  do  but  he  maun  roon 
himsel'  most  to  deith  down  there  among  the  wil- 
lows an'  milkweed — an'  captured  nary  a  one. 
Why,  he  asked  me  yesterday  if  Pigeon  is  wha' 
is  called  *clay  frost  color,'  and  when  I  said  *roan' 
he  looked  that  astonished,  and  then  he  wanted 
to  know  if  ^tenderfoot'  is  some  kind  of  a  disease 
and  if  people  come  to  Wyoming  to  get  cured 
same  as  for  loong  tribble,"  whereat  the  big 
Scotchman  had  roared  with  laughter.  "But," 
he  had  added,  "he  is  lernin'  to  swim  like  a 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

feesch,  I  tell  ye,  and  is  a  becomin'  that  skilly  wi' 
tha  horses  that  tha  boys  are  all  ta^en  to  'im  fine." 

Arthur  had  certainly  changed  since  the  mem- 
orable and  disastrous  day  of  the  prairie  fire. 
The  fair  English  complexion  had  given  way  to 
ruddy  sunburn,  and  he  had  grown  both  in  stat- 
ure and  self-assurance.  In  consideration  of  his 
prudent  nature  and  the  recent  fourteenth  birth- 
day, William  had  presented  him  with  a  six- 
shooter,  holster,  cartridge  belt  and  all  which 
now  formidably  topped  the  Levi-Strauss  over- 
alls he  had  selected  from  the  pile  in  the  store- 
house, while  his  pliable  Stetson  was  garnished 
with  snake  rattles,  trophies  of  personal  encoun- 
ters with  that  sinister  inhabitant  of  the  plains. 

"Now  defenseless  and  fragile  creature,"  he 
began  in  a  dirge-like  voice  when  the  two  chil- 
dren were  finally  alone  in  the  house,  "Fm  Jack 
Slade  and  you  are  in  my  power.  See  this  gun? 
Beware.  I  can  almost  hit  a  target  once  out  of 
ten  times.  Do  come  out,"  he  added  in  his  nat- 
ural voice,  "for  it  is  lovely  and  warm,  and  I'll 
spread  this  fur  thing  right  in  the  sun." 

"Yes,"  she  assented  eagerly,  "under  the  tree 
of  falling  leaves.     I  will  take  the  beads — and 

7  87 


NAYA 

oh,  by  and  by,  what  fun  to  make  the  chocolate 
to  a  little  twig  fire." 

After  Hannah's  departure  she  had  fastened  a 
white  plume  in  her  hair  and  thrown  a  tangle  of 
kinnikinic  berries  around  her  neck.  She  now 
ran  to  a  big  wooden  box  with  a  hinge  top,  which, 
covered  with  an  Indian  rug,  formed  a  seat  be- 
fore the  river  windows.  Carefully  lifting  and 
examining  its  folded  treasures,  she  finally  chose 
a  robe  of  doeskin,  exquisitely  lined  with  the 
plumage  of  the  white  swan  and,  throwing  it 
over  her  shoulders,  went  out  into  the  sunshine. 
While  Arthur  shot  at  the  mark,  she  sat  under 
the  spreading  cottonwood,  working  with  her 
bright  beads,  and  pausing  now  and  then  to 
glance  upward,  as  the  pale  yellow  leaves  eddied 
gently  downward  through  the  soft  quiet  air. 

"There  are  Jim  Carver  and  his  little  sister," 
announced  Arthur  presently,  as  a  big  clumsy 
boy  of  sixteen,  followed  by  a  timid  blue-eyed 
child  in  torn  shoes  and  an  immense  sunbonnet 
appeared  through  the  trees. 

One  day  not  long  before,  William  had  seen 
an  old  tilting  prairie  schooner  laboring  over  the 
dusty  plain,  with  its  usual  accompaniment  of 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

fagged  horses,  dangling  pail  and  woe-be-gone 
dog.  A  closer  inspection  and  inquiries  brought 
to  light  that  a  shiftless  good  for  nothing  squat- 
ter had  abandoned  his  wife  and  hoard  of  little 
children  to  their  fates,  and  they  were  wandering 
homeless  and  starving  with  nothing  to  look  for- 
ward to  but  winter  and  death.  William  had 
lodged  them  in  an  empty  log  cabin  on  a  near 
by  gulch  and  was  providing  for  them. 

Naya  rose  and  smiled  brightly  at  her  guests. 

"A  disagreeable  pig,"  she  thought,  as  the  boy, 
in  a  manner  both  sullen  and  overbearing,  re- 
fused her  invitation  to  sit  down. 

The  little  girl  shyly  seated  herself  on  one 
corner  of  the  fur  robe  and,  removing  the  un- 
gainly sunbonnet,  revealed  the  most  appealing 
prettiness,  despite  her  rather  pinched  and 
frightened  air. 

*'Nine  snows — a  little  as  the  English  doll,  but 
dearl*  decided  her  hostess,  beginning  to  chat 
and  show  her  the  beads. 

Even  Arthur's  boy  eyes  noticed  the  strange 
contrast  they  made.  Naya  suddenly  glowed  like 
some   splendid   dark-eyed   princess,   while   the 

8K) 


NAYA 

sweet  looks  of  the  other  became  curiously 
eclipsed  and  insignificant. 

"Come  on,  Jim,  and  try  my  new  revolver," 
said  Arthur  cordially. 

An  hour  or  so  passed  and  they  began  mak- 
ing the  chocolate  over  a  tiny  camp  fire.  Naya 
went  to  the  house  and,  not  only  ferreted  out 
cakes  and  goodies  of  various  kinds,  but  also  a 
bundle  of  clothes  for  the  forlorn  looking  little 
visitor,  not  forgetting  to  add  the  new  shoes 
which  her  father  was  trying  to  substitute  for  the 
beloved  moccasins.  "There,  you  so  stifT  little 
demons,"  and  with  the  most  reckless  generosity 
she  rolled  them  savagely  in  two  of  her  new  night 
dresses. 

Jim  had  been  worsted  in  the  shooting  match 
and  felt  hateful. 

"Most  cooked,"  said  Naya,  peeping  in  the 
steaming  chocolate  pot,  "Arthur,  more  sugar 
please,  I  think."  And  he  sped  to  the  house, 
where  See  Yup,  on  a  cleaning  tour,  delayed 
him  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Naya  is  a  mighty  funny  name,"  observed 
Jim  with  repellant  familiarity. 

"But  it  is  not  my  real  name.     My  name  is 

90 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Miss  Ca-cha-tose  Nayatohta  Dunsmuir/'  she  an- 
swered coldly,  unaware  that  it  sounded  somewhat 
long  and  incongruous. 

The  boy  roared. 

"Mine  is  Ichabod  Bumpsky  de  Barr,"  he 
said. 

"You  are  most  rude,"  replied  Naya,  rising 
to  her  feet  and  regarding  him  haughtily. 

"Aw  rats,  what  airs.  Your  mother  was  a 
squaw  and  your  father's  a  common  squaw  man. 
Why,  youVe  nuthin'  but  a  half-breed  Injun'. 
Look  at  the  chicken  feathers  in  your" — but  he 
never  finished,  for  Arthur  hurrying  from  the 
house,  heard  the  insulting  words  and,  letting 
the  sugar  bowl  fall  with  a  crash,  jumped  at  him 
like  a  tiger.  His  hands  clutched  the  astonished 
Jim's  throat  and  his  knees  banged  into  his  stom- 
ach with  such  force  that  down  they  went,  roll- 
ing over  and  over  in  the  leaves  and  dirt,  while 
Bessie  shrieked  and  sobbed  with  fright,  and 
Naya,  becoming  suddenly  faint,  dropped  limply 
to  the  ground.  "Arthur,"  she  tried  to  call,  but 
her  voice  was  weak  and  powerless. 

"You — you  puppy,  you  coward,"  shouted  the 
young   warrior    from    Clifdale,    gripping   and 

91 


NAYA 

pounding  with  such  energy  and  speed  that  his 
victim's  superior  size  counted  for  nothing.  "Beg 
her  pardon  and  FU  quit." 

"Yes,"  came  the  muffled  answer,  and  Arthur 
let  him  up. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  he  growled,  black  with  rage 
and,  covered  with  dust  and  blood,  for  his  nose 
was  bleeding,  he  ingloriously  retreated  whence 
he  came,  the  sobbing  Bessie  trotting  behind 
him. 

"Bessie,  come  back.  Your  things,"  called 
Arthur,  but  the  child  neither  turned  nor  replied. 

"Your  face  is  most  scratched,  and  I  have  over 
spilled  the  chocolate,"  said  Naya,  and,  looking 
at  each  other,  they  began  to  laugh. 

As  it  was  a  long  hard  drive  to  Buffalo,  Han- 
nah and  Dougal  were  not  expected  until  the 
following  day,  and  it  was  over  See  Yup's  sup- 
per of  rice  cakes  and  dried  prunes  that  William 
heard  of  the  afternoon's  conflict.  It  was  the  first 
time  Naya  had  been  subjected  to  insult  on  ac- 
count of  her  Indian  parentage,  and  his  heart 
was  sore  within  him.  They  said  good  night  to 
the  beaming  Celestial  and  slowly  strolled  toward 
the  house  on  the  river. 

92 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

The  hush  of  evening  lay  on  the  land  like  an 
invisible  mantle  of  peace.  The  sun  sank  gently 
behind  the  rich  blue  masses  of  the  Bighorns, 
pausing,  as  in  exquisite  after-thought,  to  tender- 
ly touch  with  lilac  and  amber  and  rose  the  fairy- 
like wreaths  of  cloud  that  hung  loosely  in  the 
sky,  while,  like  a  worn  hopeless  soul  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  glorifying  influence,  the  earth  lay  shy 
and  quiet,  tremulously  reflecting  the  beauty 
that  hovered  over  it.  There  was  an  odor  of 
dust  in  the  air  and  far  across  the  hills  a  lost  calf 
bellowed  unceasingly.  Countless  flocks  of  mi- 
grating birds  winged  southward  against  the 
tinted  sky,  the  music  of  their  voices  coming 
faintly  from  their  remote  and  trackless  path- 
ways. William  breathed  deeply,  deciding  he 
was  a  foolish  old  woman  with  his  continual  bete 
noir,  and,  noticing  that  Naya's  eyes  were  shad- 
owy with  fatigue  and  that  it  was  growing  rapid- 
ly colder,  he  persuaded  her  to  go  in  doors. 

After  tucking  her  in  the  little  pine  bed  and 
reading  aloud  for  an  hour,  Arthur  having  joined 
them,  he,  as  usual,  placed  a  candle  and  a  glass 
of  water  within   easy   reach   and,  kissing  her 

93 


NAYA 

tenderly,  left  her  to  Tweed  and  the  silvery  splash 
of  the  waterfall. 

Her  mind  became  a  confusion  of  falling 
leaves,  and  the  river  turned  to  chocolate  and 
blue  beads.  Lots  of  blue  ones;  Arthur  likes 
them  best.     See  Yup's  is  red  with  white  stars. 

Tweed  growled  and  she  started  up  from  that 
delicious  first  drowsiness. 

"Hush,  Tweedie,  just  a  coyote." 

He  certainly  was  a  horrid  boy.  Why  should 
he  laugh  because  her  mother  was  an  Indian? 
Beautiful  mother,  gathering  goldenrod  up 
there  on  the  hill.  Listen!  It  is  a  mourning  dove. 
And  the  sleepy  images  began  again.  Poor  Mag- 
gie Tulliver.  The  distant  strains  of  music  al- 
ways floated  away  and  she  could  hear  them  no 
longer.  Everything  beautiful  was  just  beyond. 
Arthur  was  out  there  now,  beating  the  horrid 
brother  Tom.    Served  him  right. 

There  was  a  sudden  swish  of  wind  in  the 
trees,  and  heavy  rain  drops  brushed  the  panes. 
She  became  wide  awake  once  more  and  cuddled 
under  the  covers  in  her  soft  cotton  flannel  night- 
dress, for  it  had  become  much  colder.  Sudden- 
ly she  saw  Maggie's  pale  dead  face  looking  at 

94 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

her  from  deep  waters,  and  she  shuddered  with 
nameless  dread,  while  the  storm  tortured  trees 
twisted  and  moaned  and  the  rain  began  to  pour 
down  in  sheets. 

"I  am  most  foolish.  I  will  read  a  little  as 
father  does,  then  the  sleep  will  come,"  said 
Naya  aloud,  and  she  resolutely  lit  her  candle. 
Throwing  a  shawl  around  her  shoulders,  she 
reached  for  a  book  on  the  little  table  at  her  side. 
It  was  "Jane  Eyre,"  and  she  knew  it  almost  by 
heart,  but,  opening  at  random,  she  was  soon  ab- 
sorbed.   It  was  an  unfortunate  page. 

"But  it  was  not  fated  that  I  should  sleep  that 
night.  A  dream  had  scarcely  approached  my 
ear,  when  it  fled  affrighted,  scared  by  a  mar- 
row freezing  incident  enough.  (Tweedie, 
hush.)  This  was  a  demoniac  laugh — low,  sup- 
pressed and  deep — uttered,  as  it  seemed,  at  the 
very  keyhole  of  my  chamber  door.  The  head  of 
my  bed  was  near  the  door,  and  I  thought  at  first 
the  goblin  laughter  stood  at  my  bed  side — or 
rather  crouched  by  my  pillow;  but  I  rose,  looked 
around  and  could  see  nothing;  while,  as  I  still 
gazed,  the  unnatural  sound  was  reiterated;  and 

95 


NAYA 

I  knew  it  came  from  behind  the  panels.    .    .    . 
Something  gurgled  and  moaned." 

As  she  read  these  terrifying  words,  she  glanced 
quickly  toward  the  window  and  her  blood 
seemed  turned  to  snow.  A  dark  sinister  face 
was  pressed  against  the  pane,  glowering  at  her 
with  wild  eyes.  For  one  frightful  moment  the 
savage  vision  held  her,  then,  as  Tweed  sprang 
between  them,  she  smothered  the  candle  with 
her  book  and,  in  unutterable  terror,  fled  to  her 
father's  room. 

"Father,  father,"  she  cried,  throwing  herself 
on  him,  "they  come — the  Indians.  Oh,  do  not 
let  them  take  me.    Do  not!    Do  not!" 

"Poor  child,"  he  answered,  rising  and  fum- 
bling for  the  matches,  you  have  overdone  again, 
and  the  miserable  fever  has  returned.  My  poor, 
poor  baby." 

"No I  No!"  she  sobbed,  "not  make  a  light. 
Hear  Tweedie !  A  so  dreadful  face  was  to  the 
window.    I  read  with  my  candle  and  saw  it." 

Her  manner  was  so  convincing  that  with  a 
heavy  heart,  he  covered  her  in  his  bed  and, 
slipping  on  his  clothes  in  the  dark,  went  to  the 
sitting  room. 

96 


>J ,     'J> 


^^1 

1 

^?l 

tec 


f  _,t        e« 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

He  lit  the  lamp  and  hesitated,  reflecting,  be- 
fore the  gun  rack. 

"If  it  is  they,  conciliation  is  the  only  method," 
he  decided  and,  unarmed,  went  out  into  the 
storm. 

"Who  is  there?"  he  called. 

Three  Indians  came  around  the  house  and 
halted  in  the  path  of  light  that  streamed  from 
the  open  door.  Two  still  sat  on  their  dripping 
ponies,  while  the  third  stalked  bareheaded  in  the 
storm. 

"Enter,  sons  of  Cristecoom,"  said  William  in 
Blackfoot,  "it  is  the  big  storm  of  the  falling  leaf 
time.    Dost  thou  hunt  the  ouacasee?''  ^ 

They  grunted  a  curt  negative  and  held  a  low 
voiced  consultation;  then,  tying  their  ponies  to 
the  fir  saplings  of  the  porch,  they  followed  Wil- 
liam in  silence.  A  vestige  of  fire  flickered  in  the 
great  stone  fireplace  and  while  he  heaped  on 
the  wood,  William  wondered  if  they  knew  he 
was  alone  with  two  children  and  that  the  bunk 
house  was  way  beyond  the  grove  of  cottonwoods. 

"Big  storm,"  he  repeated  cheerfully,  "I  will 
call  a  man  to  prepare  food  and  beds.    It  is  long, 

1  Deer. 

97 


NAYA 

Mix-ke-mote-skin-na,  *  since  we  hunted  the 
ponokah^  by  the  Lake  of  the  Dying  Face.  I 
greet  my  red  brothers  with  joy." 

**Innuya,  ne  see  chippe  cogue  ahtose,"  ^  briefly 
assented  the  one  addressed,  ignoring  the  last 
part  of  the  cordial  speech. 

They  were  powerful  warriors  with  eyes  like 
eagles.  Despite  the  rain  beaten  forlornness  of  his 
feathered  headdress  and  buckskin  fringe,  Iron 
Horn,  apparently  the  oldest  and  the  leader  of 
the  party,  stood  in  the  leaping  firelight,  a 
superb  representative  of  a  passing  race.  The 
two  young  bucks  remained  a  little  to  the  rear, 
silent  and  erect,  wrapped  closely  in  their  drip- 
ping blankets  of  green  and  scarlet,  their  coarse 
black  hair,  which  glittered  with  rain  drops, 
hanging  lank  and  wet  about  their  swarthy  faces. 

"Be  seated.  I  would  smoke  with  my  brothers 
from  the  North,"  and  William  reached  for  the 
pipestone  calumet  that  hung  over  the  fireplace. 

"We  neither  sit  nor  smoke  in  the  tnoeese  *  of 
an  enemy,"  said  Iron  Horn  with  cold  dignity. 

1  The  Iron  Horn. 

2  Elk. 

3  "It  is  long,  fifty  moons." 
*  Wigwam. 

98 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Enemy?  I  understand  not.  We  are  brothers 
since  the  day  I  saved  Wun-nes-tou  from  the 
scalping  knives  of  the  Crows,"  and  William 
sought  to  revive  the  gratitude  which  dwells 
abundantly  in  the  heart  of  the  Indian. 

But  Iron  Horn  was  unmoved. 

"The  napiquan  ^  always  remembers  if  he  does 
right.  He  ever  forgets  if  he  does  wrong,"  and 
his  eyes  flashed  with  scorn.  "The  Indian  thinks 
not  more  if  he  does  a  kindness  but  he  thinks  al- 
ways to  revenge  a  wrong.  Thou  didst  save 
Wun-nes-tou.  It  was  right.  The  mighty  Pee- 
tohpeekiss  refused  not  the  reward  thou  didst  ask. 
It  is  long  ago.  It  is  settled.  Thou  art  a  napi- 
quan. The  napiquan  is  a  robber.  He  takes  our 
lands,  kills  our  eneuh  ^  and  our  kekstakee? 

Cristecoom  gave  us  hunting  grounds.  The 
land  of  the  Great- River-That-Runs-Swiftly,^  the 
head  waters  of  the  Great  Muddy,^  the  Backbone- 
of-the-World^^ — they  were  ours.  The  Crows,  the 


"  White  man. 
•  Buffalo. 
^  Beaver. 

■The  Saskatchewan  River. 
•The  Missouri  River. 
10  The  Rocky  Mountains. 

99 


NAYA 

Assiniboins,  the  Dakotahs,  the  Crees,  they  were 
as  squaws  and  children  in  our  hands.  Now  all 
is  changed.  The  napiquan  kills  our  eneuh.  We 
starve.  They  give  us  a  little  land.  It  is  bare. 
The  eneuh  are  gone.  They  give  us  food,  so 
much  a  day  as  to  dogs.  Our  young  men  rot  with 
nah  heeoh  kee  "  and  indolence.  Our  nation  is 
broken  as  the  back  of  the  ponokah.  Who  has 
done  this?  The  napiquan/^  And  he  glowered 
with  savage  fury. 

William  hardly  listened  to  this  burst  of  fa- 
natic eloquence.  He  was  thinking  of  Naya  and 
of  what  he  ought  to  do.  Conciliation  was 
hopeless. 

After  a  moment's  silence  the  Indian  con- 
tinued. 

"Thou  art  a  napiquan.  Thou  didst  take  our 
royal  maiden.  Fifteen  times  had  the  Moon  of 
Flowers  touched  her  hair.  It  was  black.  It 
shone  as  the  wing  of  the  raven.  The  mighty 
Peetohpeekiss  gave  her  to  thee.  When  Cris- 
tccoom  calls  her  she  must  lie  with  her  fathers 
in  the  land  of  the  Great-River-That-Runs-Swift- 
ly.     The  mighty  Peetohpeekiss  has  said   it." 


11  Whisky. 

100 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIG«ORJS[  COyfJTRX  ■  ;. 

He  has  crossed  the  Great  River.  Wun-nes-tou 
is  chief.  We  are  his  messengers.  Eehniskim 
was  called  forty  moons  ago.  Thou  didst  not 
tell  us.  He  commands  that  thou  show  us  her 
grave.  This  will  carry  her  sacred  bones  to  the 
Great-River-That-Runs-Swiftly." 

William  shuddered  as  he  glanced  at  the  buck- 
skin bag  the  Indian  drew  from  under  his  striped 
blanket. 

"She  was  a  gift  of  Cristecoom  and  the  mighty 
Peetohpeekiss.  I  give  her  not  to  the  Indian," 
he  replied  coldly. 

The  young  bucks  drew  nearer  and  there  was 
an  ominous  silence. 

"Then  we  will  take  the  child,  Ca-cha-tose 
Nayatohta.  It  is  the  decree  of  Wun-nes-tou,  son 
of  Peetohpeekiss." 

'  "I  keep  my  child.  It  is  the  final  word  of 
Tcha-aes-sa-ko-mah-pee  ^  to  Wun-nes-tou.  The 
red  men  have  far  to  go.  It  is  well  that  they 
lose  no  time,"  and  opening  wide  the  door,  he 
stood  in  haughty  silence  waiting  for  them  to  go 
out. 

They  were  so  astonished  at  his  courage  and 


iThe  Bear's  Child. 

lOI 


J^AYA 


quick  decision,  and  so  momentarily  overcome 
by  the  force  of  his  personality,  that,  hardly  know- 
ing what  they  did,  they  filed  past  him  into  the 
night. 

Hastily  bolting  the  heavy  slab  door,  William 
seized  his  six-shooter  and,  extinguishing  the 
light,  hurried  to  his  room. 

"Naya,"  he  said  softly,  but  there  was  no  an- 
swer. Then  he  felt  his  way  to  the  bed  and  put 
out  his  hand,  but  it  was  empty.  "Good  God, 
were  there  more?"  he  thought.  Just  then  a 
blur  of  white  appeared  in  the  doorway  lead- 
ing to  her  room. 

"I  did  hear,"  she  whispered.  "I  did  peek  by 
the  door  in  my  room.  You — ^you  scared  them," 
and  she  gave  a  little  hysterical  giggle.  "Will 
they  shoot  by  the  windows?" 

"No,  no,  darling,  let  father  cover  you.  There, 
it  is  all  right.    Father  is  here." 

Her  teeth  were  chattering  with  cold  and 
nervousness. 

"Come  you  not  also  to  bed?" 

"I  am  not  sleepy.  Just  close  little  eyes  and 
don't  talk.  Hold  fast  to  my  hand  and  the  sand 
man  will  come.    It  is  all  right." 


102 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

He  sat  staring  into  the  darkness,  every  sense 
alert  and  ready.  The  wind  swept  about  the 
house,  stripping  the  helpless  cottonwoods  in 
merciless  fury  and  making  such  a  various  din 
that  William  clutched  his  six-shooter  in  rigid 
suspense.  Once  a  milk  pan  that  Naya  used  for 
feeding  her  numerous  family,  banged  against 
the  house,  and  a  young  cottonwood,  tried  be- 
yond its  strength,  snapped  and  crashed  to  the 
ground,  its  branches  brushing  the  window  at 
his  elbow.  From  time  to  time,  Naya  wakeful 
and  restless,  lovingly  patted  the  strong  firm 
hand,  and  once  she  whispered  with  another  lit- 
tle giggle.  "Red  Deer  was  the  most  scared. 
Once  on  visit  to  Indian  grandmother  he  did 
tease  me  with  a  so  ugly  water  snake.  I  like  all 
but  snakes  and  coyotes." 

Reassured  by  her  father's  presence,  for  to  her 
he  was  a  god  and  a  giant  and  an  angel  all  in 
one,  the  child  fell  asleep;  but  he  sat  motionless 
and  intent  until  the  clang  of  the  bunk  house  bell 
told  him  that  the  day  was  breaking. 


103 


CHAPTER  VII 

Hoards  after  hoards  his  rising  raptures  fill, 
Yet  still  he  sighs,  for  hoards  are  wanting  still. 

Goldsmith — The  Traveler. 

A  week  later  Old  Hartwell  sat  in  his  office 
poring  over  accounts.  It  was  a  little  room  and 
stamped  with  an  air  of  disorder  and  neglect. 
Scraps  of  dry  mud  were  scattered  over  the  un- 
even board  floor,  and  the  scanty  cheap  furniture 
struggled  pitifully  with  decrepitude  and  down- 
fall. As  if  to  avenge  abuse,  an  old  sofa  emitted 
its  unwholesome  looking  stuffing  in  great  bulges, 
leaving  a  series  of  defiant  ridges  to  torment  the 
repose  of  its  persecutor.  It  was  loosely  covered 
with  worn  Brussels  carpet,  the  design  of  mon- 
strous flaunting  roses  now  scarcely  discernible. 
The  battered  window  shade  hung  all  askew,  and 
a  frayed  rent  in  one  corner  gave  it  the  comical 
appearance  of  winking  at  you  confidentially,  as 
if  to  say,  "We're  on  to  ^Old  Grab  and  Hang  to 
It,'  ain't  we?  Won't  even  have  cream  for  break- 
fast, and  soon  he'll  be  under  the  sod.    Wise  old 

104 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

fool,  ain't  he?  Lots  of  'em — ha?"  And  the 
jocose  curtain  chuckled  on  through  the  nights 
and  days. 

"Old  Grab  and  Hang  to  It"  certainly  did  not 
believe  in  palatial  house  furnishing  nor  in  table 
luxuries  either,  for,  as  he  once  responded  to  a 
certain  timid  suggestion  of  the  drudge  he 
called  wife,  "I  tell  you,  Maria,  there  ain't  no 
money  in  havin'  milk  and  cream  and  butter,  and 
all  that  trash.  Condensed  stuff  is  good  enough 
for  this  ranch,  and  mighty  little  of  that  too,  and 
as  for  a  new  rocker  for  the  settin'  room,  I  could 
buy  a  calf  for  that  price.  In  four  years  it  would 
weight  twelve  hundred  if  an  ounce,  and  if  cat- 
tle keeps  a  raisin'  I  would  net — "  and  he  started 
off  muttering  his  computations,  while  the  wo- 
man who  had  left  the  snug  little  farm  in  Ohio 
with  its  peace  and  primitive  plenty  for  the 
barren  riches  of  Cattle  Land,  gazed  after  him 
with  tired,  hopeless  eyes.  A  voice  came  to  her 
from  the  woodshed. 

"There  is  a  tavern  in  the  town,  in  the  town, 

And  there  my  true  love  sits  him  down,  sits  him  down." 

Her  expression  became  more  deeply  weary 
and,  in  sudden  collapse,  she  sank  to  an  empty 

105 


NAYA 

soap  box  which  formed  part  of  the  sitting  room 
furniture,  and,  covering  her  head  with  her  blue 
calico  apron,  wept  bitterly. 

But  Old  Hartwell  was  not  thinking  of  this 
scene,  so  momentarily  annoying.  His  face  was 
flushed  with  excitement  and  almost  savage  joy. 

"Eight  thousand  if  there's  a  hoof,  and  next 
year  I  can  most  double  'em,"  he  thought.  "Must 
hang  on  to  that  young  Douglas,  for  he's  the 
best  line  rider  in  the  outfit.  If  it's  only  an  open 
winter,"  and  he  spat  copiously  toward  the  spit- 
toon, which  he  invariably  missed  nine  times  out 
of  ten.  If  there  was  a  deity  he  worshiped  above 
cattle,  it  was  good  Star  Plug  chewing  tobacco 
and  lots  of  it,  as  was  amply  testified  by  the  in- 
undated condition  of  his  grizzled  beard.  There 
was  something  absolutely  geographical  about  it, 
with  its  wide  rivulets  and  multitudes  of  thin- 
ning tributaries. 

"Pa,"  said   Daisy,   at  the   door,   "there   is   a 

h of  a  racket  goin'  on  in  the  bunk  house,  and 

I'll  tell  you  just  what  it  is.  The  boys  is  all 
drunk  as  lords,  and  it's  Len  Douglas  that's  done 
it,  for  I  seen  him  a  cachin'  somethin'  in  the  hay- 
stack when  he  come  from  town  yesterday,  and 

io6 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

I  peeked  afterwards,  and  there  was  a  whole 
demijohn  full." 

Hartwell  banged  on  the  desk,  and  his  heavy 
face  bloated  with  fury. 

"Haven't  I  told  them  I  would  dismiss  the 
first  man  that  brought  whisky  on  this  ranch? 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  But  Len — "  he  added, 
his  manner  quieting  somewhat. 

"And  besides,  Pa,"  she  went  on  hastily,  no- 
ticing signs  of  weakening  and  evading  his  ques- 
tion with  a  new  stock  of  information,  "he  was 
a  sparkin'  around  me  until  a  month  ago,  and 
now  he  snubs  me  awful.  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  he  did,  and  now  that  he  is  so  friendly  with 
them  there  stuck-up  Englishers  on  Powder  Riv- 
er, he  won't  notice  common  folks  like  me." 

"Common  folks,"  raged  Old  Grab  and  Hang 
to  It,  "common  folks.  I  guess  we've  got  a  pedi- 
gree as  well  as  the  next  one.  Been  foolin'  around 
my  girl  has  he,  and  been  givin'  her  the  mitten? 
I'll  see  about  this,  you  young  scalawag.  Been 
corruptin'  my  men  with  whisky,  too,  has  he?" 
and  he  made  for  the  bunk  house,  cursing  and 
threatening  at  every  step. 

Daisy   slipped   behind   him,    unperceived    in 

107 


NAYA 

the  growing  darkness.  The  desire  to  get  even 
with  Len  for  his  indifference  was  fast  losing  its 
edge,  for  her  father's  fearful  anger  told  her  that 
she  was  somewhat  over-reaching  her  plans.  She 
certainly  did  not  want  Len  to  go  away.  A  sys- 
tem of  reasoning,  as  absurd  as  it  was  headlong, 
had  founded  the  firm  conviction  that  once  her 
father  had  given  him  a  good  rating  before  his 
brother  cow-punchers,  his  humiliation  would 
make  her  so  secure  in  her  superiority  that  the 
handsome  boy  would  be  at  her  feet.  She  crept 
stealthily  to  a  window,  while  her  outraged  par- 
ent went  around  to  the  door. 

"Landyl"  she  gasped,  as  the  riotous  scene  in 
the  bunk  house  met  her  eye. 

A  dirty  kerosene  hanging  lamp  threw  a 
blurred  light  over  the  great  room  with  its  fifteen 
or  twenty  beds  banked  along  the  walls,  and  on 
the  eight  or  ten  disheveled  votaries  of  Bacchus, 
most  of  them  in  their  underclothes,  who  were 
earnestly  engaged  in  the  friendly  occupation  of 
shooting  at  each  other's  feet  and  hurling  chairs 
at  each  other's  heads.  Len,  still  dressed  and 
with  his  wide  hat  tilted  on  the  back  of  his  head, 

io8 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

sat  on  a  table  whanging  a  banjo  in  one  key  while 
his  uproarious  baritone  delivered  in  another — 

"  The  wind  blew  the  nose  off  her  face, 
It  started  with  the  wind  to  run  a  race, 
Gosh !    It  hit  me  when  't  was  goin'  such  a  pace 
That  now  I  've  got  two  noses  on  my  face." 

As  Hartwell  put  his  head  in  the  door,  a  flying 
chair  knocked  his  hat  off,  just  grazing  his  head, 
and  some  bubbling  mischief-maker  tripped  him 
so  that  he  sprawled  headlong  in  their  midst. 

They  were  all  youngsters  from  eighteen  to 
twenty-five  and  were  neither  vicious  looking 
nor  vicious  meaning,  but  a  little  whisky  and 
their  mad  frolicking  had  stimulated  their  young 
spirits  until  they  bordered  on  frenzy. 

"Hurrah  for  Old  Grab  and  Hang  to  It," 
shouted  one,  "let's  string  him  to  a  rafter,"  and 
he  seized  a  rope  and  began  whirling  it  around 
his  head. 

"Silence!"  thundered  Hartwell,  who  had 
pulled  himself  up  and  was  paying  no  attention 
to  the  bullets  pricking  the  boards  about  his 
feet. 

At  his  entrance  Len  had  risen  and  dropped 
his  banjo,  but  the  general  uproar  was  unabated 

109 


NAYA 

and  the  would-be  lyncher  swung  the  lasso  with 
increased  velocity.  Len  suddenly  sprang  in 
their  midst,  his  hazel  eyes  fired  with  command. 

"Shut  upT'  he  bellowed  in  a  voice  that  would 
have  sent  a  river  running  backwards — and  all 
was  quiet.  Some  snickered  as  if  realizing  the  ab- 
surdity of  a  shooting  match  in  such  unconven- 
tional costume,  others  merely  looked  sullen, 
while  a  few  seemed  grave  with  realization. 

"Better  apologize  to  Mr.  Hartwell,"  said  Len, 
and  he  turned  away  indifferently.  But  he  was 
seized  violently  by  the  arm. 

"You — you  son "  gasped  the  ranchman, 

his  face  livid  with  rage,  "it  was  you  who  brought 
the  whisky  on  to  my  ranch.  You  know  well 
enough  that  it  is  forbid.  What  have  you  to  say 
for  yourself?" 

Len  released  his  arm  without  replying.  After 
a  few  seconds'  silence,  a  boy  in  bright  blue  un- 
derdrawers  and  a  brushy  mop  of  red  hair, 
stepped  forward  with  the  dignity  of  a  diplomat. 

"It's  like  Len  to  take  the  blame,  but  /  gave 
the  boys  the  whisky.  I  didn't  bring  it  to  the 
ranch  a  purpose,  though.  This  afternoon,  about 
a  mile  east,  I  met  Buck  Redding,  who  is  hunt- 
no 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

in^  cattle  for  the  Sand  Creek  outfit,  and  he  gave 
me  a  little  bottle.  There  wasn't  enough  to  soak 
one  man,  let  alone  eight." 

Wiggy  and  his  bosom  friend  Len  exchanged 
glances  of  mutual  affection  and  admiration  as 
the  latter  continued. 

*^Shucks,  Mr.  Hartwell,  in  another  half  hour 
we  would  have  been  sleepin'  like  babes.  We 
were  just  havin'  a  little  fun.  You  oughtn't  to 
expect  full  growed  men  to  begin  work  when 
the  stars  is  shinin'  and  then  learn  a  golden  text 
at  sundown  and  go  to  bed  like  suckin'  doves." 

In  some  cases  nothing  increases  seething  wrath 
like  apology  and  just  reasoning.  This  was  one 
of  those  cases,  and  besides  there  was  the  other 
score. 

"But  you're  a  low  down You've  been 

a  courtin'  my  daughter;  you  asked  her  to  marry 
you  and  now  you've  gone  back  on  her." 

An  indefinable  gleam  shot  across  Len's  face, 
but  he  answered  quietly,  "It's  a  lie." 

"You  bet  it  is  if  he  says  so,"  chorused  half  a 
dozen  voices^  and  the  men  crowded  around  in 
eager  defense;  but  at  a  sign  from  their  leader 

III 


NAYA 

they  fell  back  and  he  continued  in  the  same  low 
controlled  voice. 

"I'll  thank  you  to  give  me  my  *time,'  Mr. 
Hartwell.     I  leave  within  half  an  hour." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  dismay  among  his 
brother  cow-punchers  and  all  began  dressing, 
while  the  air  was  full  of  subdued  mutterings. 

"If  he  goes,  I  go  too."  "Wouldn't  have 
worked  for  the  old  skin  in  the  first  place  if  he 
hadn't  such  good  horses."  "Best  man  he's  got 
and  he'd  better  hang  onto  him." 

And  Old  Grab  and  Hang  to  It  suddenly 
proved  himself  worthy  of  his  title,  for  even 
insult,  and  the  luxury  of  slashing  temper,  and 
the  necessity  of  humbling  himself  before  his 
men,  were  as  nothing  compared  to  his  love  of 
gain. 

"Well,"  he  said,  clearing  his  throat,  "We'll 
talk  it  over  in  the  morning,  Len.  We're  both 
a  little  overhet,  and  we'd  better  sleep  on  it." 

But  Len  assured  him  he  was  not  "overhet," 
and  was  so  determined  that  the  erstwhile  vol- 
cano walked  humbly  to  the  house  and  wrote 
Len's  check.  "Half  of  the  others  '11  quit  now," 
and  at  the  thought  of  the  winter  storms  and  the 

112 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

green  men  looking  after  his  great  herds,  Hart- 
well  groaned  aloud. 

Suddenly  a  sob  came  from  a  room  above  the 
office — Daisy's  room.  Instantly  his  wrath  re- 
turned.    "The  lyin'  huzzy.    What  did  she  tell 

them  lies  for,  and  what  in  h is  she  cryin' 

for?'' 

The  intricate  process  of  feminine  circumven- 
tion and  reasoning  is  so  incomprehensible  to  the 
opposite  sex  in  general,  that  it  is  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  this  specimen,  obtuse  in  all  matters 
except  cattle  and  money,  could  divine  that  the 
poor  little  fool  was  crying  out  her  heart  because 
she  loved  the  very  man  she  had  calumniated  and 
sent  away. 

Hartwell  did  not  wait  for  Len  to  come  to  the 
office,  but  slowly  made  his  way  toward  the 
stables. 

At  nightfall  the  boys  had  turned  their  ponies 
into  a  large  circular  corral  which  was  walled  on 
one  side  by  a  long  low  shed.  Usually  Len  had 
no  difficulty  in  catching  his  faithful  Comet,  but 
to-night  a  satantic  spirit  possessed  the  whole 
bunch.  Two  hindrances  in  the  guise  of  helpers 
were  perched  on  the  high  pole  fence,  holding 

113 


NAYA 

aloft  their  flickering  lanterns,  which  cast  fitful, 
blinding  beams  across  the  backs  of  the  running 
horses  and  in  the  corners  of  the  dark  shed.  Len, 
in  their  midst,  made  one  throw  after  another,  his 
lasso  hissing  through  the  shadows  like  a  snake, 
but  his  usually  unerring  aim  was  powerless  in 
the  treacherous  light.  There  were  perhaps 
twenty  of  the  gleeful  little  brutes,  now  dodging 
this  way,  now  that,  now  huddling  in  a  corner 
with  Comet  buried  deep  in  their  midst,  only  to 
dash  snorting  and  defiant  past  the  cluster  of 
snubbing  posts  in  the  center  and  into  the  depths 
of  the  shed  again. 

"Say,  you  fellows,  make  yourselves  scarce  and 
put  out  them  lanterns,"  said  Len  crossly  and, 
when  they  did  as  he  bade,  he  entered  the  cor- 
ral armed  only  with  a  bridle  and  a  handful  of 
sugar  which  he  kept  hidden  in  a  secret  niche 
of  the  stable.  He  gave  a  curious  little  whistle. 
It  was  evidently  familiar  to  one  of  the  now 
quiet  and  watchful  band,  for  there  was  a  stir 
and  an  answering  whinny  and  by  the  light  of 
the  stars,  a  horse  was  seen  to  trot  forward.  Soon 
Len  was  receiving  his  "time"  and,  as  was  proper 

"4 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

to  Cattle  Land,  taking  a  brief,  unemotional 
farewell  of  his  friends. 

"It^s  only  a  little  difference,  Len.  I  expect 
you  back  soon,"  said  Hartwell  with  cringing 
humility. 

The  young  cow-puncher*s  curt  "Thank  you" 
gave  him  little  hope,  and  his  downcast  comrades 
knew  that  they  might  never  see  him  again. 
Hadn't  Corduroy  Bill  gone  off  one  day  and 
never  been  heard  of  since? 

"Where  you  goin'?"  whispered  Wiggy,  as 
Len  tied  the  sack  containing  all  his  worldly 
goods  on  the  back  of  his  saddle. 

"To  Powder  River — the  Circle-Arrow.  If 
I  get  a  job,  shall  I  ring  you  in?" 

"You  bet,"  said  the  delighted  Wiggy,  taking 
a  crosscut  from  despair  to  joy,  and  he  gave  Len 
a  terrific  jab  in  the  ribs  by  way  of  an  affectionate 
farewell. 

In  another  moment  the  clatter  of  Comet's 
hoofs  had  died  away  in  the  night. 


US 


CHAPTER  VIII 

For  't  is  sweet  to  stammer  one  letter 

Of   the   Eternal's   language; — on    earth   it   is   called 

Forgiveness. 

Bishop  Tegner  (Translated  by  Longfellow). — 

The  Children  of  the  Lord's  Supper. 

"There!  There!  Master's  good  dog.  Just 
a  minute  now.  Open  his  mouth  a  bit  wider, 
Dougal." 

The  setter  kept  his  eyes  on  William's  face, 
their  expression  of  deep  patience  and  trust  shad- 
owed with  wincing  agony.  At  every  turn  of  the 
pinchers  he  gave  the  tiny  cry  of  a  suffering  child, 
but  he  remained  passive  in  Dougal's  grasp,  and 
the  yellow  brown  eyes  never  left  his  master's 
face. 

"They're  shure  meeserable  things;  just  like 
feesch  hooks  a'  tha  ind.  Leetle  wider,  ye  poor 
beastie,"  and  Dougal's  voice  was  full  of  com- 
passion as  he  pried  the  mouth  of  the  tortured 
creature. 

"Are   you   sure   it  was   Naya's   porcupine," 

ii6 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

asked  William,  extracting  a  wickedly  barbed 
quill,  so  deeply  imbedded  in  the  dog's  tongue 
that  only  a  small  portion  had  been  visible. 

"Yes.  Packs  was  a'  tha  hoose  when  it  hap- 
pened. Hannah  came  a  tha  corral  for  me,  an' 
she  said  he  came  into  tha  kitchen  a  cryin'  an' 
a  pawin'  his  nose,  an'  noticin'  tha  bristles,  she 
ran  into  Naya's  room  an'  tha  uncanny  beastie 
still  had  his  war  bonnet  a  stickin'  oop  straight, 
an'  his  eyes  like  dots  o'  fire.  It's  fine  freends 
wi'  Tweedie  and  yon  leetle  doe,  but  I've  often 
thocht  this  wud  happen  to  wan  of  tha  ither 
dogs." 

"I  have  been  apprehensive  too,  and  I  told 
Naya  a  week  ago  that  he  is  growing  so  fast  he 
has  become  dangerous.  She  was  so  upset  that 
I  haven't  had  the  heart  to  take  a  definite  step, 
but  I  must  protect  the  dogs,  and  what  is  more, 
even  though  it  seems  absolutely  harmless  with 
her,  some  day  it  may  have  a  violent  moment  and 
shoot  her  full  of  these  wretched  things." 

When  the  last  quill  was  drawn,  William  rose 
from  the  block  where  he  had  been  sitting  and, 
with  thoughtful  eyes,  watched  the  dog  as  he 
ground  his  smarting  muzzle  in  the  sand  before 

117 


NAYA 

the  shop  door.  He  twirled  the  pinchers  uncer- 
tainly and  finally  said, 

"I  think  I  will  go  for  a  little  hunt  before  din- 
ner. The  fresh  meat  is  almost  gone,  and  one  of 
the  boys  saw  deer  tracks  a  mile  west.  I  wish 
while  I  am  gone,  you  would  take  your  rifle  and 
put  an  end  to  that  little  monster.  Naya  has 
gone  up  to  see  Mrs.  Carver,  and  this  is  a  good 
chance."  He  began  arranging  the  tools  over 
the  carpenter's  desk  as  if  he  had  asked  some- 
thing amiable  and  of  every  day  occurrence. 

DougaPs  kind  eyes  emitted  sparks  of  indigna- 
tion, and  he  all  but  said,  '*Do  it  yir  seP,"  but 
like  the  loyal  devoted  henchman  he  was,  he  mere- 
ly muttered,  "Very  weel,  sir,"  and  gloomily 
made  his  way  toward  the  house,  while  William, 
full  of  remorse  and  discomfort  for  having  in- 
flicted the  tender  hearted  Scotchman  with  such 
a  distasteful  task,  fled  on  Rajah  through  the 
broken  country  to  the  west,  far  from  the  scene. 

Meanwhile  the  children  were  on  their  way 
to  the  lone  cabin  in  the  gulch,  two  miles  away. 
Arthur,  holding  a  great  sack  of  provisions  on 
the  front  of  his  saddle,  watched  Naya  as  she 
balanced  herself  on  one  foot,  laughing  and  sway- 

ii8 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

ing  to  the  motion  of  the  horse.  The  sagacious 
Pigeon  in  blanket  and  surcingle,  trotted  along 
as  carefully  as  a  juggler  bearing  a  porcelain 
vase  on  his  head  and  a  brother  trickster  on  either 
shoulder. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  slipping  to  the  saddle  with  a 
little  rush.  *'It  is  the  arms  which  make  steady 
and  this  coat  takes  the  freedom.'^ 

November  chill  filled  the  morning  air,  and 
two  pale  sun  dogs  spoke  menacingly  of  the 
weather's  intent.  The  first  thin  shroud  of  snow 
seemed  to  reflect  the  dreary  sky,  which  bent 
closely  to  the  earth  like  a  haunting  ashen  face, 
and  the  stubble  of  the  wide,  deserted  cornfields 
gashed  the  snow  with  black  jagged  blades.  A 
flock  of  snowbuntings  skimmed  a  nearby  hill, 
while  a  hungry  hawk  hovered  watchfully  above 
their  heads. 

Naya's  crimson  hood  and  cloak  gave  the  dull 
scene  its  only  touch  of  color  and  her  ripple  of 
talk  and  laughter  were  like  the  sudden  flash  of 
sun-touched  water. 

Arthur  had  never  quite  forgiven  her  for  not 
awakening  him  the  memorable  night  of  the  first 
fall  storm,  and  he  began  speaking  of  it  now. 

»  119 


NAYA 

"Jiminy!  It  must  have  been  just  like  a  scene 
in  the  theater.  Once  I  went  to  a  matinee  in  Lan- 
caster, and  when  the  villain  came  on  the  stage — 
he  was  kind  of  a  pirate  with  a  peaked  cap  and 
brass  rings  in  his  ears — ^why,  there  was  the  awful- 
est  storm.  The  fiddles  shivered  like  anything 
and  when  the  thunder  banged,  I  went  up  straight 
in  the  air  and  came  down  with  a  ca-chug.  I 
thought  he  had  me  sure." 

Naya  had  never  been  to  the  theater,  but  her 
quick  imagination  saw  the  dramatic  possibili- 
ties of  her  adventure. 

"For  Christmas!"  she  exclaimed,  "Surely 
what  fun  to  have  a  little  theater  show.  You  shall 
be  Red  Deer  to  peek  in  the  window  while  I  read, 
and  I  will  show  you  to  look  scared  as  he  did 
when  father  did  open  wide  the  door.  Father 
shall  play  himself,  for  he  was  most  grand — 
just  like  the  king  in  the  ragged  fairy  book,  ex- 
cept for  the  so  tight  red  stockings  and  the  red 
velvet  coat  thing." 

The  plan  of  a  Christmas  "show"  was  a  joy- 
ful prospect  to  Arthur,  but  he  shook  his  head 
dubiously. 

"I  know  you  aren't  scared  about  the  Indians 

120 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

stealing  you.  You  are  such  d.  funny  girl,"  and 
he  looked  at  her  in  perplexity.  "But  Uncle 
William  is  never  easy  a  moment.  In  the  even- 
ing when  he  sits  reading,  he  starts  and  listens 
at  every  sound,  and  often  he  goes  out  and  beats 
around  in  the  brush  for  an  hour.  I  helped  him 
last  night." 

"You  did?"  she  asked  with  startled  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  did,  and  he  has  taken  Len  off  the  line 
riding  crew  and  for  the  past  week  he  has  done 
nothing  but  scour  the  country  for  Indian  signs." 

She  was  silent  a  moment. 

"I  was  most  to  dying  with  fright  when  I  saw 
the  face  at  the  window;  my  heart  turned  dead 
and  heavy  as  a  stone,  but  after  father  knew,  it 
was  all  right.  Someway,  I  am  only  scared  when 
things  happen.  It  is  most  foolish,  I  think,  to 
be  ever  anxious  and  afraid  that  something  dread- 
ful may  happen.  I  grow  to  like  Len  more  to 
more.  He  has  such  quick,  funny  little  thoughts, 
and  his  heart  flows  with  kindness.  Do  you  know 
why  he  and  Mr.  Hartwell  are  friends  not  longer, 
and  why  he  comes  here  to  live?" 

Len's  reticent  admissions  had  given  Arthur 
an  idea,  but  he  evaded  the  question  by  saying, 

121 


NAYA 

**There  is  his  laundry  hanging  on  Mrs.  Carver^s 
bushes.  I  should  say  he  is  kind,  and  he  has 
such  a  way  of  making  people  feel  comfortable. 
He  knows  Mrs.  Carver  is  awful  poor  and  awful 
proud  too,  so  he  just  rode  up  to  her  door  one 
day  and  rapped  with  his  quirt  end.  When  he 
found  she  was  there,  he  got  down  and  took  off  his 
hat  as  if  she  was  a  grand  lady  and  told  her  it 
would  be  a  great  favor  if  she  would  do  his  laun- 
dry. She  is  a  mighty  nice  woman  and  was  so 
thankful.  I  was  along.  He  pays  her  twice  as 
much  as  See  Yup  charges.  You  bet,  he  is  bully." 
A  turn  in  the  wood  road,  which  wandered  up 
the  gulch,  had  brought  them  in  sight  of  a  lonely 
log  cabin.  It  had  a  curious  shrinking  expres- 
sion and  clung  to  the  hillside  as  if  life  had  been 
too  much  for  it,  and  it  besought  all  to  pass  by 
and  leave  it  in  peace.  The  handful  of  aged, 
stunted  pines  which  bent  about  it  seemed  to 
realize  the  farce  of  their  custody,  and  defeat 
and  hopelessness  emanated  from  every  gnarled 
and  dying  branch.  It  was  Hannah's  old  home. 
A  few  years  before,  when  the  setting  sun  fore- 
shadowed not  only  darkness  but  danger,  and 
twilight  found  the  cabins  of  the  scattered  pio- 

122 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

neers  fortified  like  castles  of  old,  Hannah  had 
lived  here  with  her  husband  and  little  girl.  It 
was  then  that  the  Northern  Cheyennes  were 
making  a  last  stand  for  their  beloved  hunting 
grounds,  and  it  was  then  that  Hannah  found  her- 
self widowed  and  childless.  It  is  too  terrible  to 
detail.  The  little  girl  had  gone  far  over  the  hills 
with  her  father,  and  she  found  them  a  day  later. 
Troops  were  in  the  country,  and  the  Indians 
made  for  the  fastnesses  of  the  Bighorn  Moun- 
tains, slaying  all  in  their  pathway,  but  not  dar- 
ing to  turn  aside,  so  Hannah  had  been  saved. 
William  had  come  across  her  in  Montana,  where 
she  was  preparing  to  go  back  to  Kentucky,  but 
although  she  had  determined  to  leave  the  West 
forever,  Naya's  exquisite  childhood  had  so 
touched  her  that  she  had  altered  her  plans,  and 
now  a  new  mother  love  was  filling  her  devas- 
tated life. 

Arthur  tied  the  ponies  to  a  tree,  and  Naya 
ran  to  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  a  little  wo- 
man in  a  faded  but  spotless  calico  dress,  sur- 
mounted by  the  ^'glorious  morning  face"  that 
beloved  Stevenson  exhorts  us  to  ever  put  between 
our  troubles  and  the  world. 

in 


NAYA 

"Why,  Miss  Naya,"  she  said  with  delight, 
"and  if  there  ain't  Mr.  Arthur,  too.  Come  right 
in  and  set  down  by  the  fire.  I  do  believe  it  is 
goin'  to  snow,  it's  that  gray  and  dark." 

Her  little  brood  crowded  around  in  shy  ex- 
citement. Bessie  and  John,  the  latter  a  sub- 
stantial boy  of  twelve  and  the  family  standby 
now  that  Jim  had  gone  to  Sundance  to  work  in 
the  mines,  lingered  in  the  background,  while 
the  two  younger  tots  clung  tight  to  their  mother's 
skirts.  A  vivid-eyed  little  girl  of  seven  edged 
up  to  Naya  and  felt  of  her  coat. 

"Is  it  plush?"  she  questioned. 

"No,  just  plain  cloth,  but  inside  it  is  most  soft 
with  fur  of  the  squirrel.  Father  did  play  a  joke 
to  me.  It  was  made  to  Chicago,  and  when  it  did 
come  three  days  ago,  he  did  turn  the  fur  side 
out  and  fix  it  like  an  animal  in  my  room.  I  was 
most  astonished  when  I  did  see  it." 

She  slipped  it  off  and  sank  into  the  old-fash- 
ioned wood  rocker  by  the  fireplace,  now  blaz- 
ing with  the  sagebrush  John  had  been  lavishly 
heaping.  The  burning  brush  filled  the  room 
with  a  strange  aromatic  odor,  as  repugnant  to 
some  as  it  is  delicious  to  others,  and  Naya  sniffed 

124 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

rapturously  while  the  English  Arthur,  still  an 
alien  in  some  things,  wondered  how  long  he 
would  have  to  endure  it.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  been  in  the  cabin,  for,  owing  to  the  feud 
existing  between  Jim  and  himself,  his  visits  had 
been  confined  to  brief  calls  at  the  door.  While 
the  little  children,  rescued  from  their  dumb 
shyness  by  Naya's  charm,  patted  and  kissed  and 
cooed  over  the  squirrel  lining,  he  glanced  about 
the  room. 

There  was  a  partition  at  one  end  with  a  door 
which  evidently  led  into  a  sleeping  room,  and 
the  rough  boards  were  thickly  spattered  with 
colored  newspaper  prints  and  the  geographical 
picture  cards  which,  at  that  time,  formed  the 
principal  inducement  of  a  popular  and  cheap 
brand  of  coffee.  They  represented  all  the  states 
and  territories  in  the  Union  and,  from  where  he 
sat,  Arthur  could  plainly  discern  ferocious  buf- 
falo and  Indians  dashing  madly  around  the  map 
of  Nebraska.  There  were  impossibly  slim  ladies 
in  costumes  of  dove  gray  broadcloth  and  emer- 
ald velvet  which  "fitted  like  a  glove,''  and  start- 
ling   suggestions    for    masquerade    costumes, 


125 


NAYA 

"Night"  and  "Morning"  being  the  favorite 
themes. 

Arthur,  of  course,  did  not  know  it,  but  every- 
where there  were  tokens  of  that  quaint  old  time 
country  life  in  the  East.  On  the  floor  were  a 
few  bits  of  worn  rag  carpet,  and  a  homemade 
bed  in  one  corner  was  covered  with  a  spread 
woven  in  shades  of  rich  blue  and  white,  the  bor- 
der of  which  repeated  over  and  over,  like  the 
song  of  an  old  bell,  "Liberty.  Liberty.  Lib- 
erty." The  back  of  the  wooden  chair  in  which 
Naya  frolicked  with  the  babies  was  painted  with 
bright  pink  roses,  and  on  the  shelf  above  the 
fire  was  a  stuflFed  red  bird,  who  dwelt  boldly  in 
the  outer  air,  as  if  rejoicing  that  a  lunge  of  the 
old  schooner  into  a  Wyoming  cattle  trail  had 
brought  his  glass-domed  edifice  crashing  on  his 
head,  thus  setting  him  free  forever.  He  looked 
fearfully  out  of  place,  not  that  they  ever  look  in 
place,  museums  not  excepted,  but  just  here  his 
gaudy  assurance  was  doubly  insolent,  for,  de- 
spite the  brave-faced  woman  and  the  extreme 
cleanliness,  the  undercurrent  of  sorrow  and  pov- 
erty was  painfully  evident. 

Arthur     suddenly     became     conscious     that 

126 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Naya's  sweet  tact  was  preparing  a  way  to  the 
sack. 

*'It  is  good  that  I  have  the  new  kitty  coat  for 
my  old  one  is  terrible.  It  is  no  use  to  me  more, 
and  you  make  so  pretty  rugs  with  old  things 
that  I  did  bring  it.  Dougal  has  the  plan  to  go  to 
town  soon,  and  he  says  he  can  sell  another  at 
the  store." 

Arthur  untied  the  sack  for  her,  and  she  took 
out  a  brown  winter  coat  with  a  beaver  collar. 
It  was  somewhat  worn,  to  be  sure,  but  still  an 
excellent  garment. 

Bessie's  blue  eyes  suddenly  lost  their  soft 
shyness  and  she  said  joyfully,  "Oh,  mamma,  it 
is  just  what  I  need.  You  surely  won't  tear  it 
for  a  rug." 

Mrs.  Carver  was  speechless  with  gratitude 
and,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  planted  a  hearty 
kiss  on  Naya's  glowing  cheek.  The  latter  took 
no  notice  but,  chatting  gaily,  drew  one  article 
after  another  from  the  great  sack;  old  trousers 
and  shirts  for  the  rug  making,  packages  of  tea 
and  dried  fruit  and  sugar,  a  piece  of  bacon  and 
one  of  venison  and,  best  of  all,  a  paper  of  striped 

127 


NAYA 

Stick  candy  and  chalky  white  hearts,  with  their 
calfish  inscriptions  ever  the  delight  of  childhood. 

"Old  Tom  goes  to  find  wood  to-morrow  and 
he  will  leave  potatoes  and  flour.  The  last  rug 
pays  for  all  and  this  besides,"  and  she  deftly 
changed  the  subject  as  she  slipped  an  envelope 
into  Mrs.  Carver's  hand. 

"I  think  I  die  if  the  Christmas  hurry  not. 
You  are  all  to  come  to  the  river  house,  for  Santa 
Claus  is  in  a  so  terrible  hurry  and  it  saves  the 
time.    It  is  a  so  big  country." 

The  four-year-old  baby,  much  besmeared  with 
peppermint  candy,  climbed  hastily  to  her  knee 
in  pie-eyed  excitement,  for  he  too  had  heard  of 
Santa  Claus.  Naya  rocked  and  hugged  him  in 
ecstacy,  stickiness  and  all,  while  Arthur  and 
John  discussed  the  merits  of  the  different  kinds 
of  Christmas  trees. 

"The  silver  fir,"  said  Naya,  sitting  up,  "it  is 
as  if  the  Great  Spirit  dipped  it  in  the  moon 
beams,  and  it  goes  straight  up — up,"  and  she 
gave  a  look  and  a  gesture  that  eloquently  de- 
scribed the  aspiring  character  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful tree  that  adorns  the  mountains. 

"There     are     to     be     bananas — two    whole 

128 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

bunches;  father  did  send  for  them,"  she  con- 
tinued in  another  voice,  "and  apples — real  red 
apples,  and  oranges,  and  candles  everywhere  on 
the  tree  of  silver."  Then  she  and  the  baby- 
rocked  and  hugged  some  more. 

"What's  'nanas?"  asked  the  latter,  suddenly. 

"They  are  long,  and  yellow  like  the  cotton- 
wood  in  the  falling  leaf  time,  and  where  they 
grow,  a  thousand  sleeps  from  here,  there  are 
bright  green  birds  big  like  that,"  opening  wide 
her  arms,  "and  they  make  speech  as  do  people, 
and  there  are  millions  of  trees  covered  with 
flowers,  and  monkeys  with  funny  faces  running 
through  them  on  their  tails." 

"My  doodness,"  said  the  baby,  his  eyes  big- 
ger than  ever,  "does  the  'nanas  run  on  their  tails 
too?" 

There  was  such  a  shriek  of  laughter  that  baby 
Sammy  slipped  from  her  lap  and  ran  to  the 
window  to  hide  his  embarrassment,  for  he  had 
evidently  made  a  dreadful  mistake,  but  at  the 
sight  of  the  transformed  out-of-doors,  he  speed- 
ily forgot  about  it. 

"I  dess  Dod's  wife  is  makin'  bwead  to-day 
and  'pilled  her  flour,"  he  announced  reflectively, 

«a9 


NAYA 

and  at  the  sight  of  the  snow  Naya  sprang 
up  and  slipped  into  her  things. 

"Have  a  little  bite  with  us,  my  dear,"  urged 
kind  Mrs.  Carver,  but  Naya  thought  of  Pigeon 
unsheltered  in  the  storm  and  of  her  father's 
anxiety  if  they  did  not  return. 

In  two  minutes  after  mounting  their  horses 
the  cabin  and  fringe  of  pines  became  invisible. 
It  was  strangely  dark,  and  sometimes  they  almost 
lost  their  breath,  for  the  atmosphere  had  become 
heavy  with  snow  as  fine  as  powder. 

"This  beats  me,"  said  Arthur,  peering  for  the 
trail. 

"Give  Alder  the  rein.  He  and  Pigeon  find 
the  way  alone." 

They  rode  on  silently  through  the  increasing 
cold,  trusting  to  the  instinct  of  the  horses,  for 
the  path  and  the  different  landmarks  were  fast 
disappearing. 

"This  is  the  longest  two  miles  I  ever  rode," 
muttered  Arthur  finally. 

"Get  down  and  feel  for  the  trail,"  said  Naya 
in  a  puzzled  voice,  for  she  too  had  begun  to  feel 
bewildered. 

Arthur  knelt  in  front  of  Alder,  who  pulled 

130 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

obstinately  on  his  rein,  when  some  one  stumbled 
over  him,  and  he  and  Len  found  themselves 
tumbling  in  the  snow^. 

"Jiminy  crickets,"  said  the  astonished  boy, 
"how'd  you  get  w2Ly  off  here?" 

"Way  off  here?"  repeated  Len  amazed,  "why 
you're  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  stable.  Fm 
on  my  way  to  the  house." 

"Well,  this  beats  me,"  said  Arthur  slowly, 
trying  to  readjust  his  thoughts,  for  he  and  Naya 
both  imagined  they  were  wandering  aimlessly 
in  some  remote  gulch. 

Naya's  hands  were  almost  frost  bitten  and 
she  danced  with  pain  as  her  father  rubbed  them 
with  snow.  He  tried  to  divert  her  by  giving 
an  account  of  his  short  and  successful  deer  hunt, 
and  she  was  telling  him  about  Sammy  and 
"Dod's  wife,"  when  she  suddenly  broke  off — 

"I  must  go  fix  a  more  warmer — warmer  place 
for  little  porcupine.  It  is  most  cold  to  my 
room." 

Dinner  would  not  be  ready  for  half  an  hour, 
and  Dougal  sat  by  the  window  reading.  He 
and  William  exchanged  a  sudden  guilty  glance. 
Len  had  picked  up  a  paper  too,  for  Hannah  had 

131 


NAYA 

invited  him  to  abandon  for  once  See  Yup's  ex- 
cellent though  monotonous  fare,  but  he  did  not 
read.  He  was  thinking  of  that  long  ride  he  had 
made  a  month  ago,  following  the  trail  that  led 
straight  over  the  Bighorns.  He  was  seeing 
again  a  great  lustrous  star  hanging  just  above 
the  summit.  It  seemed  to  beckon  to  the  home- 
less wanderer,  and  his  heart  had  grown  reverent 
with  the  thought  of  a  something  just  beyond 
those  star-crowned  mountains,  a  something 
vaguely  different  and  high  and  beautiful.  For 
years  he  had  roamed  from  the  Columbia  to  the 
Mississippi,  on  the  deserts  of  Nevada  and  the 
rich  prairies  of  the  Dakotas,  and  through  all 
the  danger's  \aind  temptations  of  frontier  life, 
this  longing  had  groped  steadily  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

William  realized  something  of  this  and  more, 
and  had  told  Len  of  the  danger  that  threatened 
Naya,  knowing  that  his  intelligence  and  loyalty 
would  be  an  added  strength  in  the  defense  that 
guarded  her. 

Len  sat  so  absorbed  in  his  thoughts  that  he 
did  not  observe  the  glance  that  passed  between 
the  other  two  men. 

132 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Soon  Naya  came  rushing  down  the  steps  that 
led  to  her  room. 

"Len,"  she  questioned  anxiously,  "have  you 
seen  my  little  porcupine?/' 

"Not  since  yesterday,"  he  replied. 

"Dougal  have  you  seen  him?" 

The  big  Scotchman's  ruddy  face  had  turned 
a  trifle  pale,  but  he  decided  that,  in  this  case, 
frankness  was  the  better  part  of  valor. 

"Bairnie  dear,  if  ye  could  hae  seen  Packs  wi' 
his  poor  mouth  an*  nose  fool  o'  quills,  ye  wud 
forgie  me.  I  just  had  to  do  it  to  protect  tha 
animals." 

She  became  perfectly  white. 

"You  did  kill  him,  Dougal,  my  dear  little 
porcupine?" 

"Yes,  lassie,  I  had  to." 

She  turned  away  with  a  dazed  expression,  as 
if  she  could  not  realize  what  he  said.  Then 
she  wheeled,  swept  by  a  sudden  storm  of  anger. 
Her  dark  eyes  turned  a  purplish  black  and 
floods  of  color  came  and  went.  She  leaped  at 
Dougal  like  a  little  panther  and  seizing  his 
newspaper,  snatched  it  into  a  hundred  bits. 

133 


NAYA      • 

"You  are  horrible.  You  are  full  of  hate.  I 
hope  the  Great  Spirit  sends  a  curse.    I — " 

"Naya,"  said  her  father  sternly,  "come,"  and 
taking  her  by  the  arm,  he  led  her  to  the  door  of 
her  room.  "When  you  are  ready  to  apologize 
to  Dougal,  you  may  come  out,  but  until  then 
I  must  ask  you  to  stay  in  your  room.  It  was  I 
who  had  the  little  monster  killed,  so  you  have 
nothing  to  blame  Dougal  for." 

"I — I  hope  the  Great  Spirit  curses  you  too, 
then,"  she  gasped,  as  he  shut  the  door. 

There  was  a  sudden  wild  burst  of  weeping, 
then  absolute  quiet. 

Len  forgot  Hannah's  hospitality  and  dashed 
through  the  snow  toward  the  stables.  The  rest 
ate  their  meal  in  agitated  silence.  Even  Will- 
iam never  witnessed  such  an  outburst  of  her 
temper,  but  despite  his  displeasure  and  stern 
resolutions,  his  heart  ached  for  her.  He  knew 
that  she  adored  all  her  pets  and  that  only  sor- 
row could  have  driven  her  to  such  an  extremity. 
So  by  his  desire,  Hannah,  weeping  furtively, 
arranged  a  little  tray  and  softly  opening  her 
door,  slipped  it  in  without  speaking. 

The  storm    continued   unceasingly.      Arthur 

134 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

and  Dougal  worked  in  the  shop,  but  William, 
miserable  and  restless,  stayed  in  the  sitting  room 
and  waited.  After  two  dragging  hours,  during 
which  papers,  books  and  accounts  all  seemed 
equally  flat  and  uninteresting,  he  softly  ap- 
proached her  door.  He  had  pictured  her  sob- 
bing quietly  over  her  loss  with  melting  wrath 
and  a  leaning  toward  apology  and  freedom, 
but  to  his  astonishment,  the  strange  child  had 
tricked  herself  in  the  most  startling  barbaric 
splendor  she  could  find  and  was  practicing 
little  Indian  dances  before  a  mirror.  She  wore 
a  curious  dress  of  woven  silk  grass,  elaborate 
with  feather  embroidery,  and  over  her  shoul- 
ders was  a  robe  of  doeskin  dressed  until  it  was 
almost  as  fine  as  white  satin.  The  part  in  her 
hair  was  painted  a  brilliant  scarlet,  and  there 
were  daubs  of  red  and  yellow  on  her  cheeks 
and  brow.  In  her  hair  a  single  plume  waved 
with  graceful  defiance  as,  with  noiseless  mocca- 
sincd  feet,  she  went  through  the  curious  steps. 
The  tray  remained  untouched  on  the  floor,  and 
when  she  caught  sight  of  her  father  in  the  mir- 
ror, the  purplish  light  in  her  eyes  deepened, 


10 


135 


NAYA 

and  without  noticing  him  further,  she  broke 
into  a  fiercely  gay  song. 

"Not  much  sign  of  repentance  here," 
William  thought  grimly,  as  he  shut  the  door. 
He  walked  about  absently,  then  suddenly  throw- 
ing himself  into  a  chair,  he  put  his  head  down 
on  the  table  and  sobbed  like  a  child.  "Little 
wife,  little  wife,  why  didn't  you  stay  to  help 
me  with  her,  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do?" 

The  outer  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open. 
"Three  men  have  come  in  almost  froze," 
said  Len.  "I  think  they  ought  to  be  brought 
in  here,  for  it's  nearer  than  the  bunk  house 
and  we'll  have  to  'bout  carry  'em." 

"To  be  sure.  Where  are  they?"  and  William 
hastily  caught  up  his  hat  while  Len  took  quick 
note  of  his  distressed  face  and  the  still  closed 
door. 

"Right  here.  Dougal  and  Arthur  are  tryin' 
to  help  'em  along." 

The  poor  fellows  had  become  so  dazed  and 
exhausted  that  they  could  help  themselves  but 
little.  They  were  carried  to  the  house  and 
laid  on  the  sitting  room  floor,  where  Hannah 
arranged  quilts  and  blankets,  and  then  all  went 

136 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

to  work  with  snow  and  hot  whisky.  When  the 
numbness  began  to  yield,  they  groaned  and 
screamed  with  pain.  It  was  frightful,  for  the 
rescuers  were  powerless  to  help  them.  They 
could  only  await  the  effect  of  their  simple 
treatment. 

"Now  more  toddy  and  blankets  and  by  and 
by  they  will  get  to  sleep,"  said  William,  band- 
aging a  maimed  hand. 

"Here,"  said  Naya,  running  down  the  steps 
and  dragging  her  snowy  bedding  after  her,  "and 
Hannah,  I  know  to  fix  the  toddy,"  and  she  sped 
toward  the  kitchen,  her  doeskin  robe  dropping 
to  the  floor  as  she  ran.  She  soon  returned,  her 
eyes  full  of  tears  and  heavenly  sympathy. 

When  the  last  draught  of  whisky  had  been 
administered  and  the  patients  had  become  quiet 
in  their  soothing  bandages  and  warm  blankets, 
she  came  shyly  to  her  father. 

"Please,  you  and  Dougal  in  my  room." 

They  followed  her  in  silence,  and  when  they 
entered,  she  closed  the  door  and  bravely  faced 
the  two  grave  men. 

"I  cannot  speak  my  heart.  It  is  full.  I  was 
so  terrible  because  of  the  death  of  a  little  animal. 

137 


NAYA 

It  was  dear,  but  they  are  people  and  it  is 
nothing  to  such  suffering.  I  speak  not  what  I 
mean,  but  my  heart  is  full  of  sorrow  and  I 
ask  to  kiss  you  both  and  to  be  forgiven." 


138 


CHAPTER  IX 

We  ring  the  bells  and  we  raise  the  strain, 

We  hang  up  garlands  everywhere 

And  bid  the  tapers  twinkle  fair, 

And  feast  and  frolic — and  then  we  go 

Back  to  the  same  old  lives  again. 

Susan  Coolidge — Christmas. 

Christmas  morning!  Every  particle  of  moist- 
ure had  congealed  in  the  crystalline  atmosphere, 
and  the  rising  sun  thrust  its  lances  of  pale  gold 
through  an  exquisite  film  of  falling  frost.  It 
was  like  the  robe  of  a  princess  of  ancient  Syria, 
its  snowy  shower  gleaming  and  flashing  with 
oriental  splendor.  At  the  thought,  the  heavy 
odor  of  spice  and  rose  floated  through  William's 
senses,  and  he  was  once  more  wandering  in  a 
garden  of  Damascus  whither,  as  a  boy  of  fif- 
teen, he  had  journeyed  with  his  father. 

"See,  it  is  a  fern — a  tiny  fairy  fern.  Look, 
father,  all  the  stars  of  the  sky  are  falling." 

"How  beautiful  I"  he  replied,  examining  the 
strange  little  frost  designs  that  had  fallen  on 
her  sleeve.    He  had  called  her  out  to  the  river 

139 


NAYA 

porch  to  see  the  rare  and  lovely  spectacle, 
which  was  already  being  brushed  away  by  the 
order  of  His  Royal  Majesty,  the  Winter  Sun. 
It  now  struck  the  world  ablaze  with  Christmas 
joy.  The  icebound  river,  swept  bare  of  snow, 
twisted  like  a  strip  of  pale  blue  gauze  between 
gigantic  forests  of  white  branch  coral,  studded 
with  a  million  jewels.  The  little  evergreens 
became  monstrous  clusters  of  snowballs  rolled 
in  diamond  dust,  and  lakes  of  palpitating 
light  danced  on  the  surface  of  the  snowy  plain. 
Far  down  the  river  a  hay  wagon  slowly  circled 
in  a  herd  of  bawling  cattle,  and  a  man  was  cut- 
ting a  hole  in  the  ice,  that  they  might  drink. 

"Melly  Clismas,  Missy,"  said  See  Yup  from 
the  door. 

"Merry  Christmas,  you  bad  See  Yup,  you  did 
beat  me.    Is  the  tree  to  the  house  yet?" 

"In  the  house,"  corrected  William,  catching 
her  by  the  shoujlders  and  giving  her  a  little 
shake  as  he  followed  her  in  the  doorway.  "Your 
English  is  going  to  be  the  death  of  me.  I  never 
heard  anything  like  it.  It  is  neither  Indian 
English  nor  cow-puncher  English." 

But  she  ran  ahead  without  answering. 

140 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Dougal  and  Len  were  dragging  a  beautiful 
silver  fir  up  the  little  stairway  that  led  to  her 
room.  It  had  been  brought  to  Naya  a  few 
days  since  from  the  slopes  of  Cloud  Peak. 

"Let  me  in  before,"  she  said,  climbing  over 
the  tall  lower  branches  that  waved  in  the  door- 
way. 

Arthur  was  already  there,  moving  the  furni- 
ture, and  Naya,  snatching  ofif  her  wraps,  fell  to 
helping  him. 

"Right  by  the  pool,"  she  directed,  and  soon 
the  noble  tree,  silvered  as  with  delicate  frost, 
reared  its  head  to  the  ridge  pole  of  the  slanting 
roof. 

She  drew  a  great  box  of  trinkets  from  under 
the  bed.  Surely  no  Christmas  tree  was  ever  so 
strangely  arrayed.  For  each  and  every  one  she 
had  made  a  little  beaded  pouch,  or  belt,  or 
hat  band,  and  they  hung  and  trailed  fantas- 
tically among  the  silvery  branches.  There  were 
no  strings  of  shining  balls  and  tinsel,  but  there 
were  candles  in  abundance,  and  Hannah  added 
snowy  ropes  of  popcorn  and  little  red  apples 
bristling  aggressively  with  fat  brown  cloves. 

141 


NAYA 

"Is  it  not  most  wonderful?"  breathed  Naya 
to  Len,  when  the  others  had  departed. 
I  "Yepee-ee,"  he  answered  with  an  enthusiasm 
as  great  as  hers,  and,  throwing  his  hat  high  in 
the  air,  he  juggled  and  dodged  until  it  fell 
square  on  his  head  again. 

"Let  me  try  it,"  said  Arthur,  returning  with 
an  armful  of  greens. 

"An'  ril  beat  ye  all,"  and  Dougal  let  fall  by 
the  fireplace  his  weight  of  logs  long  enough 
"to  mend  a  mill,"  as  Scotch  Bobby  says. 

It  would  never  do  to  be  left  out  of  the  game, 
so  Naya  swept  a  hat  from  its  peg,  and  they 
jostled  and  shoved  and  giggled  like  a  lot  of 
schoolboys.  William,  returning  from  his 
room  with  a  mountainous  burden  of  packages, 
promptly  dashed  into  the  fun,  and  Len's  joyous 
voice  breaking  into  the  classic,  "O  Caroline, 
Caroline,  can  you  dance  the  pea  vine?"  the  rest 
joined  in  with  enthusiasm. 

"Melly  Clis — "  began  See  Yup,  who  thought 
that  salutation  proper  for  each  recurring  en- 
counter, but  when  he  saw  them,  his  chronic 
grin  froze  to  his  face  and  his  almond  eyes 
started  from  their  sockets. 

142 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

As  if  to  further  prove  their  idiocy,  Len's  hat 
fell  into  the  pool  with  a  splash  ^nd,  without 
going  to  its  rescue,  he  and  William  only  scuffled 
the  harder  for  the  one  that  remained  between 
them.  The  uncanny  ^'Caroline"  uproar  and  the 
shower  of  hats  continued.  Could  this  be  the 
secretly  worshiped  *'Missa  Dunmel,"  he  whose 
gold-leafed  image  was  enshrined  in  his  bosom 
side  by  side  with  the  Confucius  of  his  fathers? 
Was  this  his  idol  in  gray  tweed,  whose  keenness 
of  eye  and  a  certain  leanness  of  cheek  alone 
proclaimed  that  he  belonged  to  this  frontier 
world  and  not  to  some  paradisic  clime,  where 
the  rice  fields  and  bamboo  sprouts  endure  the 
year  around?  His  Asiatic  wits  stampeded  en- 
tirely. The  "Melicans"  had  gone  crazy.  It  was 
no  longer  a  fit  place  for  a  follower  of  Confucius 
and  order.  He  gave  a  sudden  gurgling  howl 
and,  turning  to  flee,  almost  knocked  Hannah  flat 
on  the  floor.  She  understood  the  situation  at 
once  and,  dropping  to  the  threshold,  laughed 
until  she  cried.  The  rioters  rushed  to  her  rescue 
in  dire  alarm. 

"See  Yup,"  she  managed  to  say,  "I  reckon 

143 


NAYA 

he  is  climbing  Cloud  Peak  by  this  time.  He 
saw  you  all  and  thought  you  were  crazy." 

Len  was  dispatched  to  head  him  off. 

"Fll  ride  Firefly.  He's  the  best  runner,"  he 
called  over  his  shoulder,  and  tore  for  the  bunk 
house. 

See  Yup  was  locked  in  his  room. 

"Say,  old  fellow,"  said  Len,  knocking  on  the 
door,  "we're  all  right,  honest.  We  ain't  luny. 
It's  just  'cause  it's  Christmas  and  we  were  foolin'. 
Come  on  out." 

Partly  reassured,  the  Chinaman  opened  the 
door  a  few  inches,  revealing  the  butcher  knife 
tightly  clutched  in  his  hand.  He  had  wrested 
it  from  the  wall  above  the  sink  in  his  frantic 
flight  through  the  kitchen. 

"Honest,  it  ain't  nothin'.  Come  on  back  to 
the  house,"  continued  Len. 

Suddenly  Yup's  blanched  face  relaxed  in  its 
customary  grin. 

"Me  tinkee  you  gone  clazee.  Only  play. 
You  Melicans  so  damee  funee,"  and  they  re- 
turned to  the  river  house  and  their  Christmas 
preparations. 

With  a  cordiality  that  was  truly  democratic, 
144 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

William  had  invited  the  bunk  house  inmates  to 
dine  there  to-day,  and  the  dining  room  was 
striped  from  end  to  end  with  a  long  white  table. 
Naya  was  busy  trying  to  construct  a  fruit  castle 
for  a  centerpiece.  Its  lines  were  to  follow  the 
marvelous  architecture  of  a  pictured  wonder 
she  had  found  in  one  of  her  father's  books,  "Les 
Chateaux  de  France."  To  her  great  disgust 
each  red  and  yellow  turret  was  no  sooner  reared 
to  a  respectable  height  than  it  fell  with  a  series 
of  bumps,  and  her  building  materials  went  roll- 
ing off  to  the  four  corners  of  the  room. 

"Crys-an-the-mum,  crys-an-the-mum,"  she 
crooned  softly,  as  she  gathered  up  the  runaway 
apples  preparatory  to  another  attempt. 

"What  did  you  say,  honey?"  asked  Hannah, 
coming  in  with  the  refilled  sugar  bowls 

"I  make  practice.  So  long  word  is  crys-an- 
the-mum,"  and  Naya,  kneeling  on  a  chair,  bent 
to  her  recaptured  pile.  "I  did  say  to  father  how 
sorry  I  am  that  the  Moon  of  Snows  left  no 
flowers  for  the  table.  Hannah,  did  you  ever  see 
a  crys-an-the-mum?  The  shops  to — in  the  big, 
big  London  are  full  of  them,  and  lilies  of  the 
valley,  and  American  beauty  roses.    Father  did 

145 


NAYA 

say  it.  The  lilies  of  the  valley  are  most  like  the 
Solomon's  seal  of  the  canons,  and  the  American 
beauty  roses  have  color  like  the  wild  roses  here 
— the  dark  pink  ones,  only  many,  many  petals. 
But  I  would  love  to  see  the  crys-an-the- 
mum,  crys-an-the-mum,"  and  she  began  to  sing 
softly,  while  the  bright  castle  walls  again  took 
up  their  unsteady  existence. 

"I  used  to  see  them  in  Louisville,"  said  Han- 
nah, counting  out  the  places,  "the  father  of  one 
of  my  little  pupils  had  a  flower  shop,  and  each 
week  when  I  went  to  give  her  her  music  lesson, 
she  gave  me  a  lovely  flower,  sometimes  a  rose, 
sometimes  a  crysanthemum.  They  lived  in  some 
little  rooms  behind  the  store." 

"Is  it  nice  to  play  the  so  queer  thing  with  the 
great  white  teeth?"  Naya  was  so  anxious  about 
her  toppling  workmanship  that  she  did  not  no- 
tice the  sadness  that  shadowed  Hannah's  face. 

"Yes,  honey,  but  I  gave  that  up  long  ago." 

Notwithstanding  the  many  renunciations  and 
the  terrible  tragedy  which  terminated  her  mar- 
riage, she  had  never  regretted  sacrificing  for  the 
venturesome  but  lovable  Tom  Warren,  her  quiet 
life  in  Louisville,  with  its  little  music  lessons  and 

146 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

lace  work.  But  sometimes  she  was  desperately 
hungry  for  the  music  which,  even  though  almost 
untrained,  had  ever  been  a  natural  expression 
of  her  deep  and  reserved  nature.  Her  face 
brightened. 

*^You  know,  your  father  has  promised  us  a 
little  piano,  honey  dear,  and  then  you  will  learn 
to  play.  It  can't  come  over  the  roads  until 
spring  though — there,  poor  childie."  Bumpety 
bump  went  the  "Chateau  de  France."  "See 
Yup  and  I  will  fix  it.  You  run  and  dress.  The 
new  warm  white  one,  you  know,  with  the  white 
stockings  and  red  sash.  Dougal  has  gone  for  the 
little  Carvers.  I  heard  the  sleigh  bells  a  few 
minutes  ago." 

"And  red  feather?"  pleaded  Naya. 

"Onel"  said  Hannah,  laughing  and  holding  up' 
her  forefinger.    "Some  day  you  will  go  to  Eng- 
land  to   see    Grandmother    Dunsmuir,    and    I 
reckon  she  will  have  hysterics  if  you  appear 
with  your  hair  stuck  full  of  feathers." 

"I  go  never  to  England,"  returned  Naya  pas- 
sionately, "I  stay  forever  with  the  mountains 
and  you."    And  she  hugged  Hannah  close. 

The  whole  house  had  been  transformed  into  a 

147 


NAYA 

bower  of  fragrant  evergreen,  and  she  took  long 
deep  breaths  as  she  ran  to  her  room. 

"My,  how  I  do  love  nice  smells  and  I  so  adore 
the  Christmas,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  re- 
braided  her  long  hair. 

Turning  to  lift  her  dress  from  its  drawer, 
she  caught  sight  of  her  mother's  face  and  walked 
slowly  toward  it,  her  beautiful  eyes  glowing 
with  an  inner  light.  She  thought  of  nothing, 
said  nothing,  but,  with  a  heart  full  of  unutterable 
love,  knelt  on  the  bed  and  put  her  cheek  to  the 
softly  outlined  one  in  the  picture. 

William  came  in  and  found  them  thus. 

"We  always  think  of  her.  We  always  wish 
she  were  here,  don't  we,  little  one?"  he  whis- 
pered, clasping  her  tight. 

"But  she  is  here,"  said  Naya,  looking  at  him, 
while  an  invisible  aureole  seemed  to  shed  its 
mystic  light  on  her  face.  "In  the  night  she  comes 
with  her  arms  full  of  silk  grass  and  goldenrod, 
and  we  do  play  and  talk  together." 

William  turned  away.  He  too  had  dreams, 
but  there  was  always  the  lonely  awakening. 

After  the  new  frock  was  buttoned  and  ad- 
mired, she  bound  her  brow  with  a  narrow  strip 

148 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

of  ermine  and  fastened  to  it  the  one  permitted 
plume. 

"Does  English  grandmother  have  often  the 
hysterics?"  she  questioned. 

He  was  watching  her  intently.  She  had 
grown  so  tall — so  different,  and  her  beauty 
startled  him. 

*Why?"  he  laughed,  but  he  did  not  hear  her 
answer. 

There  was  a  famt  tinkle  of  bells  growing 
more  and  more  distinct,  and,  as  she  spoke,  she 
rushed  down  the  steps  and  to  the  door,  just  as 
a  bob-sled,  drawn  by  two  great  bays,  came 
swinging  up  to  the  house.  The  little  Carvers 
spilled  out  like  pebbles  from  a  gourd,  and  Naya 
hugged  each  grotesque  bundle  in  turn. 

"Like  a  masquerade,"  she  thought,  wondering 
which  was  which.  "Santa  Claus  won't  let  us 
see  the  tree  until  after  the  dinner,  so  we  will  play 
here  until  the  hour  is  gone,"  she  said,  helping 
the  happy  Mrs.  Carver  strip  them  of  their  dis- 
guises. 

Len  and  Wiggy  (alas  for  Mr.  Hartwell,  the 
friends  had  been  united)  had  insisted  on  help- 
ing See  Yup  "shoot  the  biscuits,"  so  Hannah 

149 


NAYA 

was  "to  play  lady,"  as  she  said,  and  she  certainly 
looked  one  as  she  came  in  directly  in  her  old 
black  silk  dress,  her  abundant  hair,  now  heavily 
streaked  with  gray,  crowning  the  strong  refined 
face. 

That  hour  was  the  longest  the  children  had 
ever  experienced,  and  they  took  turns  holding 
Dougal's  watch.  Finally  Len,  splendid  in 
slicked  hair  and  new  red  neckerchief,  sum- 
moned them  to  the  dining  room  and  a  sudden 
clang  of  the  bell  followed  by  a  faint  whoop 
told  them  that  the  bunk  house  faction  was  on 
its  way. 

Mindful  of  Naya's  lamentations  regarding 
the  flowers,  made  several  days  before,  Hannah 
and  William  had  planned  a  little  surprise  for 
her,  and  when  the  child  saw  the  miniature 
Christmas  tree  in  the  center  of  the  table,  she 
gave  a  cry  of  delight  and  astonishment.  Surely 
nothing  ever  fashioned  by  nature  was  so  ex- 
quisitely symmetrical  as  that  little  tree.  From 
its  feathery  crest  it  sloped  and  widened  until  the 
lower  branches  blended  their  silver  green  with 
the  white  tablecloth,  and  the  dancing,  glowing 
lights  gave  it  such  a  fairylike  appearance  that 

150 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

the  air  seemed  to  tinkle  with  elfish  music. 
Myriads  of  butterflies,  looking  as  if  they  had 
floated  in  on  a  summer  breeze,  were  balancing 
their  bright  wings  in  the  golden  sheen  of  light, 
and  if  they  had  come  fluttering  and  shimmering 
about  her  head,  Naya  would  not  have  been 
surprised.  Hannah^s  reluctant  admission  that 
they  were  not  real,  that  Mrs.  Santa  Claus  had 
fashioned  them  from  bits  of  paper  and  water 
colors,  was  met  with  wonderment  and  admira- 
tion for  that  Northern  dame's  skill. 

The  hungry  rush  from  the  bunk  house  had 
slackened  in  the  near  vicinity  of  the  "boss,"  and 
the  erstwhile  whooping  cow-punchers  came 
stringing  in  as  shyly  and  uncomfortably  as  if 
it  were  a  funeral  instead  of  a  feast.  Some,  like 
boys  late  to  Sunday  school,  curled  up  their  toes 
and  walked  on  the  sides  of  their  feet  to  keep 
their  boots  from  creaking,  which  elicited  muf- 
fled sniggers  from  two  or  three  of  the  more  ob- 
serving and  humorous.  The  general  costume  of 
brand-new  overalls  and  flannel  shirt  was  topped 
brilliantly  with  fresh  silk  handkerchiefs,  blue 
spattered  with  orange,  and  scarlet  predominat- 
ing, while  their  dull  red,  weather-beaten  faces 

11  isi 


NAYA 

were  scrubbed  until  they  resembled  polished 
mahogany.  Despite  the  variety  of  nationality 
and  type,  their  faces,  mostly  young,  bore  a 
strange  similarity  of  expression  and  line,  that 
spoke  of  like  occupation  and  mutual  dangers, 
dangers  ever  confronted  with  courage  and 
characteristic  lack  of  complaint.  But  the  cli- 
max of  elegance  was  viewed  when  Wiggy  rushed 
in  from  the  kitchen  arrayed  in  amazing  store 
clothes,  the  superfluous  inches  of  both  trouser 
and  sleeve  being  visibly  tucked  and  turned 
under,  while  in  startling  contrast  to  his  mop  of 
unruly  red  hair  was  a  ready-made  necktie  of 
bright  blue  satin.  After  a  gay  flourish  of  his 
napkin  he  turned  to  steady  a  candle  flickering 
in  the  hemlock  boughs  on  the  wall,  and  all  the 
world  was  free  to  read  the  following  placard, 
which  some  mischievous  fellow  cow-puncher 
had  pinned  to  the  new  coat: 

"I've  jined  the  biled  shirt  aristocracy,  by 
gosh." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  cow- 
punchers  who,  instantly  recollecting  the  terri- 
fying presence  of  "women  folk,"  sank  again 
into  glum  and  paralyzed  silence.    But  it  did  not 

152 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

last.  Their  tongues  loosened  when  all  had  found 
seats  and  See  Yup,  with  his  two  helpers,  brought 
in  the  great  roasted  turkeys  and  geese.  The 
Chinaman's  decorative  turn  of  mind  had  de- 
vised rufflles  of  green  and  red  paper  for  their 
fat  brown  legs,  giving  them  the  comical  appear- 
ance of  portly  females  in  old-fashioned  panta- 
lets, who  were  about  to  rise  and  balance  to 
corners. 

"See  the  turkey,  Sammy,"  said  Mrs.  Carver, 
who  held  the  baby  in  her  lap. 

"Ish  it  Raggy  Moses,  Mr.  Camera?"  he  asked 
of  Dougal,  who  was  carving  at  Naya's  end  of 
the  table. 

"Shure,"  said  the  big  Scotchman  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  "an'  if  ye  find  him  gude  we'll 
bring  in  a  set  o'  harness  next." 

Naya  shook  her  head  reassuringly  and  patted 
the  chubby  hand  on  the  tablecloth.  She  sat  at 
one  end  of  the  long  table,  banked  on  either 
side  with  rows  of  hungry  but  polite  little  Carv- 
ers, and  as  long  as  she  lived,  she  never  forgot 
how  they  ate.  Conversation  had  no  further 
interest  for  them,  and  they  retired  to  ram  and 
cram  their  little  pouches  until  those  receptacles, 

153 


NAYA 

having  often  faced  and  felt  starvation,  must 
have  thought  an  avalanche  had  struck  them. 

"Say,  Wiggy,"  said  the  new  ranch  wit  from 
Poison  Spider  Creek  as,  having  performed  his 
task,  the  elaborately  gotten  up  waiter  sank  into 
his  place,  "I  was  over  on  your  range  not  long 
ago,  and  say,  do  you  remember  that  queer  look- 
in'  butte  a  little  to  the  west  o'  Cactus  Draw?'* 

Wiggy's  blue  eyes  and  blue  necktie  were  all 
attention. 

"Oh,  sure,"  he  said  eagerly,  "it's  got  a  funny 
kind  of  a  rim  o'  white  clay  stuff  around  the  top." 

"No  not  that  one.  It's  kind  o'  peaked  like 
and  there's  cracks  in  it  deep  enough  to  swaller 
a  man,  horse  and  all." 

The  newcomer  evidently  had  an  exciting  inci- 
dent to  relate,  and  the  roast  goose  and  the  new 
apple  sauce  were  abandoned  by  all  within 
hearing. 

"Now  I  know,"  said  the  unsuspecting  Wiggy, 
"big  black  cracks.  Look  like  an  earthquake 
done  it.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  some  one 
fell  into  one?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  \thc  smarty,  growing  dra- 

154 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

matic,  "that  butte  was  there  when  I  come  into 
the  country." 

There  was  a  wild  din  of  appreciation  from  all 
except  Len.  The  good-natured,  freckle  faced 
little  Wiggy,  with  his  honest,  merry  ways  and 
extravagant  dress,  was  loved  and  even  admired 
by  all.  In  fact,  his  skill  and  dexterity  as  a 
broncho  buster  were  so  great  that  his  winter  task 
was  the  breaking  of  a  vicious  herd  of  wild  po- 
nies, that  they  might  be  ready  for  the  spring 
round-up.  But  a  certain  innocence  and  inborn 
credulity  had  ever  made  him  the  butt  of  cow- 
puncher  jokes.  Len  thought  it  went  too  far 
sometimes.  This  Poison  Spider  smarty  had 
been  picking  on  him  for  a  week,  and  it  was  time 
he  realized  that  there  were  two  in  the  game. 
After  a  diplomatic  lapse  of  time,  Len  took  up 
the  thread  of  conversation. 

"Washakie,  did  you  say?  You  bet,  he's  a 
fine  old  chief.  Sent  his  son  into  a  Sioux  fight 
to  get  honor  and  scalps  and  things.  He  got 
a  hundred  arrows  in  his  hide  instead,  and  the 
old  fellow's  hair  turned  plumb  white  in  a  night. 
And  once  one  of  his  mother-in-laws  argued  with 
him.     He  just  struck  her  stone  dead,  and  his 

155 


NAYA 

wife  loved  him  more  than  ever.  Rummy  old 
chap  all  right.  Speakin'  of  Washakie,  has  any  of 
you  fellows  ever  been  over  in  the  Needles?" 

None  but  Wiggy  had  ever  penetrated  the 
mysterious  mountains  alluded  to. 

"There's  things,  over  there  a  sight  more 
wonderful  than  any  I  ever  saw.  Why,  the  bub- 
blin'  paint  pots  and  the  shinin'  waters  of  the 
Yellowstone  geysers  ain't  anything  in  compari- 
son. It  would  take  a  greater  word  slinger  'n  me 
to  picture  it.  But  probably  youVe  heard  about  it 
before,"  and  he  helped  himself  to  wild  plum 
jam  as  if  he  had  no  desire  to  bore  them  with 
twice  told  tales. 

"I  ain't  never  heerd.  Go  ahead,"  said  the 
smarty,  out  of  mingled  curiosity  and  assumed 
politeness.  He  was  anxious  to  found  his  popu- 
larity on  every  rock  that  presented  itself. 

"Well,"  said  Len,  addressing  himself  thought- 
fully to  his  victim,  "it's  certainly  curious  what 
nature  can  do.  Of  course  you've  seen  petrified 
trees,  they're  all  over  the  bloomin'  country,  but 
what  do  you  think  of  petrified  rattlesnakes,  rat- 
tles and  all?" 

156 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Well,"  said  the  credulous  newcomer,  "that's 
sure  curious.    Could  you  count  the  rattles?" 

"Sure,"  returned  Len,  beginning  to  warm  to 
his  subject  in  earnest,  "I  counted  one  monster 
with  eighteen  rattles  on  it.  But  that  ain't  all. 
Not  far  away  I  saw  a  tamarack  tree — tall  and 
bare,  you  know — and  on  its  top  branch  sat  a 
hawk  plumb  petrified,  and  right  on  the  slope 
of  the  hill  under  it  stood  a  big  bull  elk.  Evi- 
dently it  was  a  makin'  that  kind  o'  sad  whistling 
noise  when  the  stone  turnin'  process  struck  him, 
for  the  sound  was  right  there  petrified  in  the  air. 
You  could  hear  it  plain." 

Even  William  joined  in  the  roar  of  laughter 
at  the  expense  of  the  discomfited  wit,  and  Ar- 
thur, who  warmly  seconded  Len's  championship 
of  the  easily  imposed  upon  Wiggy,  started  in 
his  fresh  young  voice  the  familiar 

"Tis  a  tenderfootie  foot 
Let's  daub  his  face  with  soot 
His  mamma '11  wash  him  clean 
He 's  still  too  young  to  wean,"  etc 

through  some  forty-eleven  verses,  more  or  less. 
The  cow-punchers  all  joined  in,  and  the  long 
room,  heavy  with  the  incense  of  Christmas  hem- 

157 


NAYA 

lock  and  spruce,  echoed  gayly  with  the  rough, 
harmonious  music.  After  the  huge  plum  pud- 
ding, in  its  swirling  blue  flames,  had  disap- 
peared, and  the  fragrant  bananas  had  "run  on 
their  tails"  into  the  various  pockets,  by  this  time 
the  only  available  receptacles,  the  company  re- 
sorted to  Naya's  room  where  Arthur,  as  self- 
appointed  torchbearer,  had  preceded  them. 

Silence  again  engulfed  the  bunk  house  ele- 
ment. Overawed  by  the  fantastically  beautiful 
room,  each  tiptoed  shyly  to  his  seat.  None  be- 
sides Len  had  ever  penetrated  this  part  of  the 
river  house,  and  they  felt  the  shadow  of  mystery. 

The  story  of  Dunsmuir's  marriage  had  been 
rumored  in  various  ways.  Some  said  she  was 
not  an  Indian  at  all,  but  the  daughter  of  a 
French  voyageur,  and  that  she  had  been  stolen 
and  held  captive  by  the  Sioux,  from  whom 
Dunsmuir  rescued  her.  Their  hairbreadth 
escapes  had  furnished  themes  for  many  an 
imaginative  yarn  spinner.  She  had  spent  only 
one  year  at  the  ranch,  and  the  few  who  had 
seen  her  said  that  she  certainly  did  not  re- 
semble any  squaws  they  had  ever  seen.  She  was 
brown  to  be  sure,  but  so  was  every  one  in  Wyo- 

158 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

ming;  however,  her  ways  were  certainly  Indian 
enough,  for  she  pined  in  the  house,  and  she  had 
never  adopted  the  dress  of  the  white  woman. 
They  had  heard  rumors  of  a  great  room  he  had 
built  for  her,  with  a  cascade  and  a  pond  at  one 
end.  Such  a  crazy  idea,  and  then  think  of 
the  trouble  of  piping  the  water  down  from  the 
spring.  Anyway,  she  wasn't  English,  as  the 
child's  straight  hair  and  dark,  shining  eyes 
testified. 

They  one  and  all  had  tremendous  respect  for 
Dunsmuir,  even  though  he  was  afflicted  with  all 
sorts  of  disgraceful  and  ridiculous  habits;  drink- 
ing tea  in  the  morning,  for  instance,  and  carrying 
a  book  in  his  pocket  even  on  the  round-up^ 
just  like  a  sissy  schoolmaster.  But  in  spite  of 
these  drawbacks  they  trusted  and  liked  him,  for 
he  was  always  "hail  fellow  well  met,"  worked 
as  hard  as  any  of  them  and,  above  all,  he  was 
endowed  with  the  great  and  stern  qualities  of 
justice  and  courage  which  characterize  the  true 
frontiersman.  None  had  ever  heard  him  speak 
of  his  marriage.  Probably  Len  Douglas  knew 
more  than  he  let  on,  for  he  was  pretty  solid 
with  the  river  house  folks.     In  fact,  he  didn't 

159 


NAYA 

seem  to  have  any  job  in  particular,  except  to  ride 
among  the  hills  on  the  best  horses  the  ranch 
afforded.  They  glanced  furtively  about  them, 
as  in  a  dream,  but  the  lights  dancing  on  the 
murmuring  cascade  and  on  the  strange  picture 
— a  woman's  face  among  the  pines,  did  not  clear 
away  the  mystery. 

But  there  was  little  time  for  reflection,  for  a 
jingle  of  bells  was  heard  on  the  bridge  leading 
to  the  tree  house,  and  in  another  moment  Santa 
Claus  had  thrown  open  the  window  and  tumb- 
led over  the  sill,  followed  by  a  blast  of  cold 
night  wind.  Even  though  it  was  but  half  past 
five,  the  winter  night  had  fallen.  Sammy,  who 
had  wandered  toward  the  great  glowing  tree 
as  if  hypnotized,  gave  a  shriek  of  mingled  ter- 
ror and  delight  and  turned  to  flee  to  the  maternal 
refuge,  but,  bumping  into  "Mr.  Camera''  and 
a  half  dozen  other  gleeful  children,  he  saw  that 
retreat  in  that  quarter  was  useless  and,  with  a 
comical  little  plump  to  the  floor,  rolled  under 
the  bed  like  a  rubber  ball.  His  little  face, 
quivering  with  excitement,  was  seen  to  peer 
from  the  folds  of  the  Navajo  blanket  that  had 
transformed  the  bed    into    a    settle.      Dougal 

i6o 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

caught  him  to  his  shoulder,  and  the  superior 
height  gave  him  back  his  usual  courage  and 
self  possession.  Naya  was  as  greatly  surprised 
as  the  others.  Not  even  her  quick  perceptions 
v^ould  have  recognized  Len  had  she  not  cast 
a  quick  eye  around  the  room  for  the  missing 
one. 

He  had  been  transformed  into  a  magnificent 
Viking  of  old,  his  coat  and  cap  of  fur  covered 
with  ice  and  snow.  The  result  of  six  feet  pad- 
ded with  bunk  house  pillows  and  elevated  on 
high-heeled  boots  (carefully  concealed  with  fur 
arctics)  was  truly  giant-like  and  imposing,  and 
an  immense  pack  on  his  back  foretold  his  gener- 
ous intentions. 

Naya  ran  for  See  Yup. 

In  a  colossal  rumbling  voice  that  made  one 
think  of  icebergs  and  polar  bears,  he  began  call- 
ing his  "dear  Powder  River  children"  by  name, 
followed  by  the  distribution  of  presents. 

"My  want  to  pool  heems  whishkas,"  Sammy 
announced,  growing  brave  under  the  stress  of 
excitement. 

Santa  Claus  was  about  to  top  him  with  a 
soldier's  cap,  and  dodged  aside  just  in  time  to 

i6i 


NAYA 

save  his  reputation  as  well  as  his  hoary  adorn- 
ment. 

*^Little  friend  from  Poison  Spider,"  said  he 
tenderly,  and  the  smarty  newcomer  was  pushed 
forward  by  his  grinning  companions. 

It  was  a  newspaper  print  of  an  elk,  which 
Len  had  suddenly  thought  of  as  he  was  in  the 
act  of  arraying  himself.  His  faithful  shadow, 
Wiggy,  had  rushed  to  find  it  and,  following 
Len's  directions,  had  inscribed  under  it  the  one 
word,  "Listen!" 

"My  want  to  pool  heems  whishkas,"  wailed 
Sammy,  kicking  Dougal's  chest  lustily  and  mak- 
ing dangerous  snatches  at  the  coveted  prize. 

Len  was  actually  weak  with  heat,  for  the  great 
pine  knots  roared  and  crackled  in  the  fireplace. 
He  rapidly  distributed  the  rest  of  his  pack  of 
dolls,  and  trinkets,  and  flannel  shirts,  and  smok- 
ing tobacco,  and,  speaking  of  the  little  children 
at  Fort  Russell  who  were  expecting  him,  made 
for  the  window. 

"My  want  to  pool  heems  whishkas,"  shrieked 
Sammy,  as  the  desire  of  his  heart  disappeared 
in  the  snow. 

"Here,  pull  my  hair."  said  Wiggy  amiably. 
162 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

He  was  always  prophesying  that  old  age  and 
baldness  would  wrest  from  him  his  popularity 
with  children. 

"No,"-  shrieked  Sammy,  who  had  been  de- 
prived of  his  afternoon  nap  and  was  beginning 
to  show  it,  "it's  wed.  My  want  wite  whishkas." 
His  mother  and  Hannah  bore  him  off  to  bed. 

William  ^had  replaced  the  band  of  ermine 
and  the  red  plume  with  a  little  wreath  of  fra- 
grant cedar,  whose  dull  blue  berries  made  a 
quaint  effect  against  Naya's  black  hair.  At  the 
last  moment  See  Yup  had  slipped  a  Japanese 
kimona  into  Santa  Claus'  pack — -an  exquisite 
crape  thing  with  a  flight  of  little  gray  birds 
winging  their  way  across  a  sunset  sky.  It  was 
hard  to  say  which  was  the  more  beautiful,  the 
poetic  idea  or  the  marvelous  embroidery. 
Naya  had  slipped  it  on  over  her  white  dress 
and,  with  her  half-oriental  face  and  crown  of 
green,  she  became  strangely  lovely  and  aloof 
from  her  surroundings.  She  had  never  possessed 
but  one  finger  ring,  a  heavy  band  of  Navajo  sil- 
ver, inlaid  with  a  crescent  and  stars  of  turquoise. 
She  always  wore  it,  and  Hannah  thought  it  both 
barbarous  and  unsuitable,  so  she  had  sent  for  a 

163 


NAYA 

circlet  of  pearls,  and  William  had  added  a 
threadlike  necklace  of  the  same  lustrous  gem. 
The  child  sat  by  a  little  low  tea  table  examining 
them — the  table  being  DougaFs  workmanship 
and  gift — and  on  the  floor  at  her  feet  were  beau- 
tiful bridles,  wonderfully  woven  from  horse- 
hair, braided  rawhide  quirts,  buckskin  bags  full 
of  flint  arrowheads,  pieces  of  rock  bearing  curi- 
ous images  of  maple  leaves  and  fish,  perhaps 
found  on  the  barren  plains  miles  from  water 
and  trees,  and  every  thing  that  the  generous  and 
adoring  cow-puncher  heart  could  devise. 

The  stable  held  Pigeon's  rival,  the  little  black 
Pehta,^  with  a  spirit  like  the  west  wind  and  a 
heart  as  gentle  as  a  dove.  A  few  days  since  Len 
had  brought  him  from  the  breaks  of  the  Yellow- 
stone, at  the  same  time  parting  with  several 
months'  wages,  as  William  decided  in  helpless 
distress.  Naya  was  wild  over  his  beauty,  but, 
after  Len  was  out  of  sight,  she  had  sought  out 
Pigeon  and  vowed  her  eternal  fidelity. 

William  sat  looking  at  her  and  was  startled 
afresh  by  a  certain  indefinable  something  which 
gave  him  a  glimpse  of  what  her  womanhood 
might  be.    There  was  a  little  dull  ache  at  his 

1  War  Eagle. 

164 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

heart  these  days  for,  although  the  heavy  win- 
ter snows  and  a  most  careful  scouting  of  the 
country  told  him  there  was  no  immediate  danger, 
yet  the  thought  of  spring  filled  him  with  dread. 
But  his  brooding  mood  was  not  in  accord  with 
the  Christmas  gayety  around  him,  he  decided, 
and  he  roused  himself  just  as  Len  came  to  cross 
two  swords  on  the  platform  erected  on  one  side 
of  the  room,  and  Dougal,  in  kilts,  cap  and  dirk 
of  the  Scottish  Highlander,  entered  to  the  sound 
of  a  bagpipe.  The  big  Scotchman  plunged  into 
his  sword  dance  with  a  grace  and  lightness  of 
foot  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  premiere 
danseuse,  while  the  plaintive  pastoral  melody, 
breathing  the  fragrance  of  the  pink-heathered 
Highlands,  was  now  soft  and  dreamy,  now  wild 
and  quick.  Everyone  became  quite  breathless 
and  frozen-eyed  as  he  watched  the  intricate, 
lightning  steps,  which  never  once  touched  the 
shining  swords,  but  went  on  and  on  across  and 
around  them  to  the  rhythm  of  the  shrill  melody, 
floating  high  above  the  harsh  drone  fifths.  There 
was  a  sudden  silence  and  Dougal  stepped  down 
as  red  as  his  kilts  and  "puffin'  like  a  snow  plow 
a  boockin'  drifts,"  as  he  said. 

165 


NAYA 

The  next  number  on  the  program  was  a  duet 
by  Len  and  Wiggy,  entitled,  "Tumbleweed 
Pete's  First  Header,"  their  brothers  of  the 
round-up  swelling  the  chorus.  This  received 
vociferous  applause,  especially  from  the  mod- 
est performers  themselves,  who,  with  great 
shows  of  shyness  and  reluctance  next  favored 
the  assemblage  with  the  elegant  "Why  the 
Tomato  Can." 

Pico  alone  seemed  unappreciative.  The  little 
Spanish  vaquero  who  had  drifted  to  the  far 
northern  range,  no  one  knew  why  nor  how,  was 
prevailed  upon  to  bring  his  guitar  from  the 
bunk  house,  and  to  its  tinkling  accompaniment 
he  breathed  rather  than  sang  the  passionate  "El 
Tormento  de  Amor." 


^ 


s 


^ 


Tor  -  men  -  to      de    a  -  mor,    passion  que    de    -    vor  - 


Pj  J  r  rir  r  r^ju  J  ;]_i 


a,   Tu  mar-chi   tas  -  te     la  fu-en-te    de   mavi-da. 

"Say  the  meaning  of  the  pretty  soft  words," 
said  Naya,  leaning  toward  him,  her  face  elo- 

i66 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

quent  of  the  deep  emotion  his  flaming  music  had 
awakened  in  her.  But  Pico  shook  his  head  as 
he  dreamily  tuned  the  guitar. 

*'Ze  luv  is  for  ze  song,  not  for  ze  speech,"  and, 
brushing  his  fingers  over  the  strings  in  a  poetic 
little  prelude,  he  drifted  into  the  sweet  old 
Spanish  song  which  once  echoed  among  the 
magnolias  and  oleanders  from  California  to  old 
Mexico,  "La  Noce  est  Serena." 

Naya  was  enchanted.  He  had  recently  been 
transferred  from  one  of  the  other  ranches,  and 
she  had  never  before  heard  him  sing. 

"Is  it  beautiful,  the  far  country  to  the  south? 
Do  you  sing  of  that?" 

His  homesick  heart  instantly  forgot  all  but 
those  lovely  eyes  and  their  sympathetic  response 
to  his  music. 

''Si-si,  Senorita,  it  ees  ver'  lovely.  It  ees 
painted  here,"  putting  his  hand  on  his  heart,  "ze 
leetle  mission,  ze  padre — ze  dooves,  so  white  in 
ze  blue  sky — ze  roses.  Santa  Maria,  a  long 
while  it  ees" — 

"Did  Shanty  Claus  shing?    My  want  to  pool 
heems  whishkas,"  and  Sammy  stood  in  the  door- 
way, rubbing  his  sleepy  eyes. 
12  167 


NAYA 

"We  must  go  home/'  said  Mrs.  Carver,  and 
she  began  to  collect  her  unwilling  brood. 

Wiggy  ran  to  the  stable  for  the  big  bays  and 
the  sled.  The  night  was  cold  and  clear,  and 
the  sky  snapped  and  flashed  with  great  falling 
stars. 

''Gooda  nighta,"  said  Pico's  soft  voice  and, 
bending  with  a  gentle  smile,  he  kissed  the  hand 
Naya  held  to  him.  "Zank  you  for  ze  dona.  I 
will  do  myself  ze  honor  to  teach  you  ze  leetle 
words  one  day.  *La  Calandria' — I  sang  it  not 
— ees  also  ver'  Bella.    Adios,  Senorita." 

He  kissed  Hannah's  hand  also,  much  to  that 
puritanical  lady's  surprise  and  vexation,  but  she 
forgave  him  for  the  sake  of  his  lovely  music  and 
spoke  some  kind  words  as,  with  the  grand  air  of 
a  Spanish  courtier,  he  bowed  himself  out. 

"The  curly  headed,  singin',  greaser  idiot," 
thought  Len,  with  jealous  wrath. 

He  would  not  presume  to  kiss  even  the  sole 
of  her  little  moccasin,  and  here  this  "dago"  had 
had  the  impudence  to  actually  kiss  her  hand.  It 
was  too  much.  Standing  bareheaded  in  the 
snow  he  threw  the  little  Carvers  into  the  sled, 
half  of  them  "changing  ends"  in  the  process. 

i68 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

They  wildly  clutched  their  dollies  and  bags  of 
goodies,  but  fortunately  there  was  a  plentiful 
padding  of  clothing  and  hay,  and  they  eventual- 
ly turned  right  side  up  without  sustaining  any 
mishaps. 

^'It  is  only  eight,*'  Naya  was  begging  of  Han- 
nah, as  he  entered  the  house,  "  ^Shanty  Claus'  and 
I  want  to  play  just  one  game.'' 

Somewhat  appeased,  Len  soon  found  himself 
opposite  his  cedar-crowned  goddess  with  the 
new  cribbage  board  between  them. 

"Hush,"  she  said  suddenly,  stopping  to  listen. 

The  hungry  wild  things  of  plain  and  moun- 
tain were  abroad  in  the  silent  night.  The  wierd 
wailing  of  coyotes  was  broken  by  the  deep  mel- 
ancholy howl  of  a  wolf,  and  far  off  in  a  different 
direction  came  the  faint,  almost  human  scream 
of  a  cougar. 

William  looked  at  Naya.  She  loved  to  hear 
them.  The  kimona's  silken  folds  fell  back  from 
her  uplifted  hand,  and  her  head  was  slightly 
turned  in  an  attitude  of  listening.  Instinctive 
dread  mingled  with  delight  shown  in  her  eyes, 
and  for  a  fleeting  instant  William  saw  in  her  the 
image  of  innocent  youth  hearing  the  first  faint 

169 


NAYA 

footfall  of  destiny,  the  destiny  that  treads  but 
once  the  deep  inner  pathway  of  a  woman's  soul, 
and  either  catches  her  up  in  rapture,  or  passes 
and  leaves  her  to  darkness  and  tears.  It  was  but 
the  idea  of  a  mind  whose  firm  texture  was  inter> 
woven  with  the  rich  threads  of  instinctive  art, 
but  as  they  turned  to  their  game,  he  dropped  his 
book  and  his  thoughts  became  more  personal. 
He  knew  her's  was  a  nature  which  would  learn 
and  develop,  not  through  the  advice  and  experi- 
ence of  others,  but  only  through  its  own  tragic 
upheavals.  The  bitterness  of  life  for  such  as  she 
consists  not  in  its  torturing  inner  conflicts,  but  in 
the  empty  world  one  finds,  when,  on  rising, 
strengthened  and  enriched  and  worthy,  the  hands 
are  full  of  ashes  and  Happiness  sinks  below  the 
far  horizon  to  return  no  more.  Some  almost  for- 
gotten words  of  La  Bruyere's  floated  across  his 
memory,  *^La  plupart  des  homines  emploient  la 
premiere  partie  de  leur  vie  a  rendre  Vautre 
miserable,*' 

His  conscience  made  it  quite  clear  to  him 
that  it  was  impossible  to  keep  her  in  this 
wilderness  many  years  longer,  but  could  he  push 
such  a  nature  into  the  vortex  of  life  unguarded? 

170 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

The  thought  of  leaving  the  grandeur  and  peace 
of  his  surroundings  for  the  old  life  in  England 
left  him  smothered ;  the  rounds  of  dull  country- 
visits,  the  petty  parish  gossip,  the  absolute  lack  of 
bigness  and  freedom  which  had  become  so  nec- 
essary to  him.  And  then,  the  little  plateau  on 
the  mountains,  how  leave  that?  It  was  here 
alone  that  God  spoke  to  him,  not  in  the  glitter 
and  tinsel  and  fog  and  filth  of  the  great  cities. 
Wyoming  I  Oh,  the  pale  silver  of  her  winter 
dawns,  and  the  dull  amber  of  her  winter  sun- 
sets!   How  would  it  end? 


171 


CHAPTER  X 

When  daisies  pied  and  violets  blue 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver  white 
And  cuckoo-buds  of  yellow  hue 
Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight. 

Shakspere — Love's  Labour's  Lost. 

When  Naya  rose,  the  moon  was  a  great  sphere 
of  white  fire  hanging  above  the  jagged  crests  of 
the  Bighorns.  The  birds  began  calling  in  the 
thickets,  and  rifts  of  pearly  light  rippled  the 
dusky  clouds  in  the  east.  As  the  pearl  melted 
to  rose,  and  the  rose  flamed  to  crimson,  the  flow- 
ers stirred  and  whispered  together  in  the  fresh 
wind,  for  they  too  seemed  to  realize  that  a  mo- 
mentous day  was  approaching.  It  was  a  wild 
sweet  dawn,  and  Naya's  heart  sang  like  a  bird 
as  she  ran  into  the  open.  A  skylark  was  stream- 
ing upward.  She  watched  it  breathlessly  as  it 
fluttered  like  a  tiny  leaf  against  the  blue,  its  cas- 
cades of  silver  song,  now  richly  passionate,  now 
faintly  sweet,  showering  the  earth  like  the  music 
of  another  world. 

172 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

For  months  they  had  talked  of  nothing  but 
this  camping  trip  to  the  Bighorn  Mountains. 
It  had  been  promised  for  late  June,  but  spring, 
as  if  moved  by  loving  pity  for  their  impatience, 
had  come  a  month  earlier  than  usual,  sweeping 
the  land  like  a  v^arm  tidal  wave  and  weaving  the 
hills  with  flowers  until  they  appeared  like  fold 
on  fold  of  gorgeous  brocade. 

The  semiannual  round-up  had  passed  a  few 
days  since.  After  the  calves  had  been  branded 
and  counted  and  the  herds  dispersed  to  the 
plains,  William  plunged  into  the  preparations 
for  their  trip  with  as  much  glee  as  the  children. 
Arthur  had  never  been  to  the  mountains,  and  he 
was  fairly  steeped  in  excited  anticipations,  while 
Naya,  who  held  all  outdoor  life  in  the  most  pas- 
sionate adoration,  had  been  counting  the  days. 

Unhappily  for  Hannah's  hopes,  the  long 
looked  for  piano  had  been  engulfed  in  a  raging 
stream,  a  too  close  acquaintance  with  the  whisky 
bottle  having  inspired  the  freighter  to  attempt 
a  crossing.  Therefore,  aside  from  the  usual 
amount  of  reading  and  study  which  William  re- 
quired of  her  daily,  Naya  had  done  nothing  the 
whole  spring  but  plan  for  this  holiday.     Dur- 

173 


NAYA 

ing  their  absence  Hannah  was  going  to  visit 
some  Eastern  friends  who  had  recently  located 
in  Cheyenne,  but  despite  her  happiness  over  the 
prospective  renewal  of  old  and  dear  relations, 
she  became  more  and  more  restless  as  the  time 
approached  for  their  departure. 

Len  said  he  was  actually  becoming  tatooed 
with  admonitions  such  as,  "Be  sure  she  puts  on 
her  jersey  when  the  sun  goes  down,"  "Don't  let 
her  fall  in  Smet  Lake,"  Keep  her  away  from 
poison  oak,"  etc.,  etc.,  for  he  heard  nothing  else, 
was  permitted  to  think  of  nothing  else,  and 
dreamed  of  nothing  else.  He  inked  the  latter 
warning  on  his  forearm  and  showed  it  to  Han- 
nah as  a  proof  that  mental  derangement  would 
soon  assail  him. 

But  it  was  her  first  separation  from  Naya  since 
the  child  had  come  into  her  life  to  lighten  the 
burden  of  memory  and  loneliness,  and  her  heart 
ached  with  an  apprehension  that  she  herself 
could  not  understand.  Wasn't  her  own  father 
going  with  her?  Could  there  be  a  greater  and 
deeper  assurance  than  that  of  his  presence?  He 
adored  her — but  then,' — and  her  cheerful 
thoughts  faltered,  all  men  were  careless  at  times. 

174 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

He  loved  to  hunt  and  would  leave  her — but  of 
course  there  were  Len  and  Arthur,  and  Dougal 
was  to  join  them  the  following  week. 

After  their  hasty  breakfast  she  was  in  the  sit- 
ting room  tying  the  flour  sack  that  held  Naya's 
little  wardrobe.  Suddenly  she  sent  word  to  Len 
that  she  wanted  to  see  him. 

"Len  Douglas,  clow-plunchee,  at  your  ser- 
vice. I  suppose  this  time  I  am  not  to  let  an 
alligator  swallow  her." 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile  of  welcome  as  the 
young  cow-puncher  came  in,  but  it  did  not  alto- 
gether obliterate  the  anxiety  in  her  eyes. 

"I  suppose  I  am  foolish.  Mr.  Dunsmuir  says 
he  feels  sure  the  Indians  have  given  up  their 
mad  scheme  to  steal  the  child.  They  always 
move  early  in  the  spring  and  here  it  is  almost 
summer.  But  some  way,  I  can't  rid  myself  of 
the  idea.  Her  father  will  want  to  hunt  and 
Arthur  is  perfectly  crazy  about  it,  so  she  will 
be  left  to  you.  Do  be  careful  and  never  leave 
her  alone." 

Len's  teasing  manner  left  him,  and  his  hand- 
some brown  face  became  grave  and  attentive. 

"You  just  depend  on  me,  Mrs.  Warren,  and 

175 


NAYA 

don't  you  worry  a  bit.  Come  out  and  see  old 
Juniper.  Of  all  the  villainous  old  fools  he's  the 
worst,  but  he's  sure  a  Jim-dandy  in  the  moun- 
tains. Carries  three  times  as  big  a  pack  as  the 
other  mules  and,  best  of  all,  never  falls  down." 

Whatever  Juniper's  good  qualities  might  be, 
he  certainly  did  not  give  the  impression  of  a 
likely  competitor  in  a  beauty  show.  He  had 
been  named,  so  they  say,  for  old  Juniper  Simp- 
son, his  former  master,  but  by  stretching  the 
imagination  somewhat,  it  was  easy  to  trace  a 
strange  likeness,  both  in  color  and  anatomy,  to  a 
gnarled  and  verdureless  specimen  of  the  tree 
designated.  Fancy  a  great  ugly  mule,  colossal 
in  stature  and  with  a  head  like  a  dromedary. 
Long  jagged  scars  in  his  muscular  flank  pro- 
claimed a  stormy  youth,  probably  a  desperate 
conflict  with  a  bear,  while  one  empty  eye  socket 
glared  eloquently  of  some  other  tooth  and  nail 
conflict.  Just  at  present  the  remaining  eye 
fastened  itself  coyly  on  the  ground,  as  Dougal 
and  William  attached  the  pack  saddle  and  be- 
gan heaping  him  with  the  paraphernalia  of 
camp  life.  His  virtues,  whatever  they  were, 
could  not  entirely  destroy  the  memory  of  occa- 

176 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

sional  vicious  tricks,  and  they  were  congratulat- 
ing themselves  upon  his  good  behavior. 

It  must  have  given  the  little  Peggy  mule 
a  queer  sensation  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach  as 
Old  Tom  led  her  past  Juniper's  humbly  droop- 
ing head.  The  coy  eye  opened  with  a  sudden 
vindictive  glare,  and  he  gave  a  lash  of  his  great 
muscular  tail,  as  if  to  say,  "Won't  I  just  kick  the 
stuffin'  out  of  you  though,  you  little  tasseled 
fool."  His  tail  wasn't  shaved.  He  didn't  look 
like  a  little  sissy  in  tasseled  spring-heeled  shoes. 
But  of  course  the  packers  had  no  means  of 
divining  these  inner  reflections.  As  Dougal 
topped  the  cooking  utensils  with  a  great  load  of 
bedding,  and  William  cast  the  rope  for  the  dia- 
mond hitch.  Juniper  had  a  sudden  thought. 
Perhaps  Peggy's  surrender  to  his  charms  and 
general  superiority  did  not  depend  entirely 
upon  the  force  and  fleetness  of  kicks.  Why  not 
prove  to  her  that  if  these  worthy  gentlemen  were 
skillful  in  packing,  he  was  equally  skillful  in 
unpacking,  and  by  a  reverse  process  could  ac- 
complish in  two  minutes  what  had  taken  them 
half  an  hour. 

The   rope  tickled  his  flank.     That  was  an 

177 


NAYA 

excellent  excuse.  His  first  lunge  brought  the  bed- 
ding over  on  his  tail  and  the  ax  handle  touched 
his  side.  Heavens,  what  had  they  put  on  him? 
He  had  only  jumped  for  fun,  but  this  was  fright- 
ful. Perhaps  that  well  remembered  grizzly 
whose  skull  he  had  finally  crushed  with  his  un- 
erring heels,  had  suddenly  come  to  life  there  on 
his  tail.  He  forgot  little  Peggy  and  his  amorous 
thoughts.  He  forgot  everything  except  that 
awful  live  thing  that  must  be  disposed  of, 
no  matter  what  the  cost.  The  chickens  screamed 
and  fled.  Hannah  made  a  snatch  at  Naya,  but 
seeing  that  that  little  wild  cat  had  already  scaled 
the  corral  fence,  did  not  stop  until  she  was  safe 
within  the  stable.  Thump!  Bang!  Crash! 
Frying  pans,  tin  plates,  buckets  and  Dutch  ovens 
spilled  from  the  saddle  bags  with  the  upward 
impetus  of  skyrockets,  and  blankets  enough  to 
bed  an  army  were  fluttering  and  flapping  and  un- 
folding in  the  wind.  In  the  beginning  it  was  a 
little  outburst  of  histrionic  talent,  but  now  the 
erstwhile  comedian  was  deadly  in  earnest  and 
in  such  a  state  of  hysteria  that  he  could  not  have 
stopped  had  he  wanted  to.  He  had  torn  the 
rope  from  William's  hands  and  was  fast  ap- 

178 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

preaching  the  little  aspen  thicket  by  the  shop. 
The  door  was  open,  and  perhaps  thinking  it  was 
the  stable,  perhaps  not  noticing  what  he  did,  he 
dashed  in  there  to  find  himself  face  to  face  with 
Arthur  and  Pico,  who  were  hunting  a  missing 
pack  rope.  The  onslaught  of  the  raging  one- 
eyed  demon  was  so  furious  and  unexpected,  that 
they  evaporated  without  pausing  for  prelimi- 
naries, one  under  the  carpenter's  bench  and  the 
other  behind  a  pile  of  boxes.  But  there  was  no 
danger.  The  devil  departed  as  suddenly  as  he 
came,  and  Juniper  felt  foolish.  He  fell  to 
trembling  violently  and  his  one  wild  eye,  now 
tame  and  apologetic,  sought  the  ground.  Pico 
led  him  out  and,  in  a  state  of  docility  and  humil- 
iation, he  allowed  himself  to  be  once  more  laden 
with  the  scattered  pack. 

^^Espiritu  Santur  said  Pico  with  an  extrava- 
gant gesture,  "In  Andalusia,  when  I  was  ze 
leetle  boy,  I  heard  ver'  oft'  of  ze  terrible  dragon 
of  ze  one  eye.    I  zought  he  come!'' 

Poor  Alder  whinnied  beseechingly  from  the 
little  pasture  opening  into  the  horse  corral.  He 
presented  a  doleful  appearance,  for  the  day  be- 
fore his  nose  had  been  bitten  by  a  rattlesnake 

179 


NAYA 

and  it  was  now  as  big  as  a  molasses  keg.  Arthur 
grieved  to  leave  him,  but  the  trip  would  be  hard, 
and  as  a  compensation  he  had  been  given  Fire- 
fly, the  somewhat  excitable  but  swift-footed 
champion  of  all  the  Powder  River  meets.  Naya 
was  to  ride  Pigeon,  and  the  beautiful  Pehta, 
running  about  loose,  was  to  follow  the  party, 
providing  an  extra  mount  in  case  of  mishap. 
He  had  developed  into  the  most  extraordinary 
pet,  shadowing  Naya  like  Sahkee,  the  fawn. 
They,  with  Tweed,  were  romping  about  her  now 
and  suddenly  Pehta  slipped  behind  her  and  tak- 
ing her  arm  very  gently  in  his  teeth,  hung  fast 
until  Len  drove  him  away. 

When  at  last  the  little  cavalcade  started, 
Dougal  had  to  hold  tightly  to  the  frantic 
dog,  which  they  had  decided  to  leave  behind  as 
ruinous  to  hunting,  and  the  deer,  having  been 
coerced  into  the  corral,  made  desperate  attempts 
to  leap  the  bars.  Pehta  alone  had  his  liberty, 
and  he  circled  around  them  joyously,  his  luxuri- 
ant mane  and  tail  blowing  in  the  wind.  Han- 
nah waved  a  cheery  goodby,  but  her  heart  was 
heavy.  Somehow  they  all  felt  strangely  deserted 

i8o 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

and  alone  as  the  camping  party  disappeared  in 
the  sunny  hills. 

William,  mounted  on  big  gray  Rajah,  roae  at 
the  head  of  the  procession,  while  Naya  and 
Arthur  followed  close  at  his  heels.  Then  came 
Juniper,  solemn  as  an  owl  and  as  well  behaved 
as  the  traditional  "dead  Injun,"  and  close  be- 
hind him  was  the  reliable  Hattie,  whose  prim- 
ness and  precision  of  ways  reminded  one  of  an 
old  maid  school-marm.  Little  Peggy,  with  a 
coat  like  gray  plush,  brought  up  the  rear.  She 
would  not  keep  the  road  but,  inspired  by  youth 
and  a  whimsicality  said  to  be  characteristic  of 
her  sex,  started  across  the  plains  at  a  brisk  trot, 
pack  bobbing  wildly,  as  if  she  knew  where  to 
find  more  desirable  company.  Len,  who  had 
been  delayed  a  moment,  came  dashing  in  pur- 
suit, and  finally  coaxed  the  capricious  female  to 
a  place  between  Juniper  and  Hattie.  The  form- 
er instantly  lost  his  regained  reputation  by  let- 
ting fly  his  heels,  and  the  terrified  lady  deserted 
once  more,  only  in  another  direction.  At  last 
she  was  installed  behind  the  stiff  and  ladylike 
Miss  Hattie  and  Len,  on  Comet,  formed  a  rear 
guard. 

i8i 


NAYA 

He  decided  that  he  had  managed  badly,  for 
he  wanted  to  ride  with  Naya.  However,  he  had 
to  content  himself  with  the  view  of  her  slim  up- 
right figure  in  its  simple  frock  of  brown  home- 
spun and  the  long  purple-dark  braids  that  fell 
low  on  either  side.  Her  father  had  provided 
a  light  weight  sombrero,  but  she  carried  it 
crushed  under  her  arm.  Now  and  again  she 
turned  to  smile  or  wave  the  disdained  hat  at  Len, 
as  fragments  of  his  song  floated  to  her  across  the 
backs  of  the  pack  animals. 

Her  fourteenth  birthday  had  passed.  She  was 
now  in  her  fifteenth  year.  Len's  song  suddenly 
ceased  and  he  closed  his  eyes.  He  had  never 
thought  of  just  that,  and  the  splendid  untamed 
blood  of  twenty-one  leaped  to  his  heart.  But  it 
was  like  dreaming  of  the  great  luminous  star 
that  had  guided  him  over  the  Bighorns  the 
night  of  his  long  ride.  A  thousand  voices 
seemed  to  clamor  in  his  ears,  but  his  spirit  lifted 
a  stern  hand  and  they  were  silenced.  His  mo- 
mentary wrestle  had  carried  him  so  far  that 
when  he  opened  his  eyes  the  flower  strewn  hills 
seemed  oddly  remote  and  unreal. 

What  flowers!     Deep  rose-hued  cacti  with 

182 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

a  thousand  fringelike  petals,  lovely  frank- faced 
yellow  ones  like  patches  of  sunshine,  dashes  of 
scarlet  mallow  and  clusters  of  creamy  petaled 
soap  plant,  while  a  profusion  of  starlike  May- 
flowers and  lavender  sweet  peas  veiled  the 
prairies  as  far  as  one  could  see.  The  yellow- 
breasted  meadow  larks  filled  the  air  with  the 
bubbling  rapture  of  their  song,  and  occasionally 
herds  of  fleet  antelope  brushed  the  tops  of  the 
flowers,  only  to  disappear  like  spectres,  one  could 
hardly  distinguish  when  or  where. 

They  had  their  lunch  at  a  tiny  stream,  mar- 
gined with  the  vivid  green  of  moisture-loving 
willows,  and  as  the  sun  was  setting,  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  exquisite  Lake  de  Smet.  It  lay 
as  tranquil  as  a  sheet  of  glass,  lustrous  with  the 
rich  hues  of  the  departing  sun. 

William  turned  to  Naya  with  an  expression 
of  delight 

"Look,  darling,  it  is  like  a  great  stained  glass 
window  in  an  old  cathedral." 

"It  comes  from  the  sky,  the  cathedral  of  the 
Great  Spirit,"  said  Naya  musingly. 

They  watched  it  until  it  paled.  Cloud  Peak, 
whose  crest  of  eternal  snow  towered  beyond  and 

13  1 83 


NAYA 

far  above,  was  still  mantled  in  splendor,  but  the 
shadows  were  deepening  in  canon  and  forest  as 
the  party  followed  the  trail  leading  to  Big 
Piney.  For  the  country  had  undergone  a  great 
change  since  the  morning.  Instead  of  the  richly 
carpeted  prairie,  the  home  of  the  cactus  and 
soap  plant,  delicate  mountain  flowers  waved 
softly  in  the  twilight  forest,  and  the  sudden 
flight  of  the  crested  blue  jay  flashed  in  the  gloom 
of  the  pines. 

Len  preceded  them,  driving  the  pack  animals 
before  him  and  they  followed  at  a  rapid  pace. 
He  had  already  selected  a  camp  site  and,  with 
skilled  and  practiced  hands,  was  relieving  the 
mules  of  their  loads  and  hobbling  the  runaways. 

During  the  supper  preparations,  Naya  and 
Arthur,  on  an  exploring  expedition,  crossed  on 
a  fallen  log  to  a  little  island,  its  dusky  shores 
wreathed  with  the  singing  waters  of  Big  Piney. 
A  sudden  gleam  came  to  them  from  the  opposite 
bank  and,  holding  hands  and  creeping  closer/ 
they  peeked  through  the  dense  undergrowth.' 
There  by  a  great  fire  were  two  Indians.  Arthur 
pulled  Naya  back. 

184 


A  Sl'ORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Quick,''  he  said,  "before  they  discover  our 
camp.  We  must  get  out  of  here." 

"No,"  she  said,  pulling  away  and  laughing  a 
little  at  his  terrified  manner,  "they  are  Crows, 
a  most  nice  race  and  now  friendly  to  us,  the 
Blackfeet.  They  know  already  that  we  are  here. 
One  fools  never  the  Indian.  See,  they  make 
gestures  in  our  direction.  I  go  to  invite  them  to 
supper.  You  run  and  tell  Len  to  cook  all  the 
antelope.  They  eat  as  the  wolves,  these  nice 
Crows." 

The  flaming  fire  revealed  an  opening  in  the 
trees  and,  seeing  a  natural  bridgeway  of  drift 
wood,  she  ran  nimbly  across  it  and  into  the  light 
of  the  camp  fire.  Her  impetuosity  struck  hor- 
ror to  Arthur's  soul,  for  to  him  Indians  were 
symbolic  of  scalping  knives  and  massacre.  Little 
tranquil  Clifdale  knew  them  not,  in  fact  he  had 
never  seen  one  except  in  the  faded  reproduc- 
tions which  further  the  romance  and  dread  of 
the  "Leather  Stocking  Tales."  His  heart 
thumped  wildly.  He  tried  to  catch  her,  to  call 
her  back,  but  his  voice  was  lost  in  the  roar  of  the 
baffled  stream,  as  it  leaped  and  dashed  against 
the  barricades  of  drift  wood.    There  was  nothing 

i8s 


NAYA 

to  do  but  follow,  for  he  would  rather  have  died 
than  abandoned  her  to  those  savages. 

"How,"  she  said  gaily  to  a  squatting  redskin 
who  was  kindling  a  tiny  cooking  fire  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  main  one. 

He  was  a  slender  young  buck  with  a  quantity 
of  thick  black  hair  hanging  about  his  copper- 
colored  face,  and  when  he  rose  it  was  with  the 
lissomeness  of  a  carelessly  folded  ribbon  which 
one  lifts  by  the  end.  He  smiled  amiably,  show- 
ing a  row  of  very  white  teeth. 

"How,  little  lady.  You  come  camp?"  and  he 
waved  his  hand  toward  their  camping  ground. 

"Nothing  of  the  sinister  Magua  here,"  thought 
Arthur,  but  despite  the  young  Indian's  frank 
and  pleasant  manner,  his  suspicions  were  unal- 
layed. 

"Yes,"  she  smiled,  "make  you  the  hunt  in  this 
beautiful  country?" 

"Hunt? — No  good  hunt.  Help  old  man.  He 
hunt.  No  hunt  deer — no  hunt  elk — hunt  rocks," 
and  an  expression  of  disgust  momentarily  blotted 
the  good  nature  from  his  features.  "You 
hunt?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  I,  but  my  cousin,  per- 

i86 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

haps.  This  is  my  cousin,  Arthur  Dunsmuir, 
from  over  the  great  waters." 

The  Indians  eyed  Arthur  curiously,  for  by 
this  time  the  other  had  joined  them.  He  was 
rather  older  than  the  first,  being  a  heavy-set 
fellow  with  a  hideously  pock-marked  face, 
somewhat  softened  by  pleasant  eyes.  Evidently 
his  English  was  more  scanty  than  that  of  the 
first,  for  his  conversational  endeavors  consisted 
of  an  occasional  unintelligible  grunt. 

"We  stay  quite  three  weeks  in  the  mountains. 
We  come  to-day  from  the  ranch  of  my  father  on 
Powder  River."  And  she  went  on  with  the 
frankness  that  sometimes  terrified  William.  "I 
most  sorry  that  I  know  not  the  speech  of  my 
brother  the  Crow.  I  speak  the  Blackfoot.  My 
mother  was  Crystal  Stone,  the  daughter  of  Eagle 
Ribs.  Once  the  Crows  and  Blackfeet  were  ene- 
mies, but  now  the  feather  of  the  white  swan  is 
between  them.  I  ask  you  to  have  supper  at  my 
camp." 

Arthur  could  have  groaned.  He  thought  the 
Indians  exchanged  a  queer  glance.  There  was  no 
sympathy  between  him  and  this  strange  racial 
instinct  that  prompted   such  headlong  friend- 

187 


NAYA 

liness  and  hospitality.  By  the  light  of  the  leap- 
ing fire,  the  mischievous  young  Crow  noticed 
the  distrust  and  anxiety  in  the  boy's  blue  eyes, 
and  put  one  hand  carelessly  inside  his  buck- 
skin shirt,  from  which  Arthur  expected  him  to 
draw  a  knife  at  any  instant. 

"Good  evening,  my  dear  young  friends.  I 
wish  to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

The  children  turned  with  a  start,  and  there  be- 
hind them  was  a  little  old  man  in  a  long  gray 
ulster.  An  old  fashioned  muffler  was  knotted 
around  his  neck,  and  a  warm  black  cap  pro- 
tected his  head  from  the  night  chill.  They  had 
not  seen  him  before,  for  he  came  from  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  great  camp  fire,  and  had  been 
concealed  by  smoke  and  flames.  Evidently  he 
had  been  reading  in  its  light,  for  one  withered 
hand  retained  a  place  in  his  book. 

"I  have  come  to  this  interesting  region  in  the 
name  of  science,  my  dear  young  friends.  Yonder 
peak,"  and  he  waved  his  hand  vaguely,  "is  of 
feldspathic  granite,  syenite,  and  gneiss,  while 
not  far  distant  from  the  very  ground  we  stand 
upon  are  rocks  of  Silurian  and  Triassic.  But  I 
search  especially  the    valued    remains    of    the 

i88 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Brontotherium  of  the  Miocene  age.  Have  you 
happened  to  see  any  of  those  precious  relics  in 
your  wanderings?" 

Naya  gulped.  Why  hadn't  she  studied  her 
English  harder,  then  maybe  she  would  know 
what  he  was  talking  about.  She  cast  a  rapid 
glance  at  Arthur,  but  he  was  dumb.  Then  her 
bewildered  gaze  rested  on  the  lithe  young  Crow, 
who  stood  a  little  behind  his  patron  and  charge. 
He  tapped  significantly  on  his  forehead  and, 
with  sudden  thought,  began  explaining  in  the 
sign  language,  so  well  known  to  most  of  the 
aboriginal  tribes  of  America.  Naya  knew 
enough  to  comprehend  the   gist  of  his  meaning. 

"Harmless  old  man.  He  hunts  bones  and 
rocks.    We  are  his  guides." 

"I  know  so  little  of  the  English,"  she  said 
sweetly,  turning  to  him,  "but  I  am  sure  that 
father  knows  what  you  ask.  He  knows  very 
much.    I  ask  you  and  your  guides  to  supper." 

"Wah-hoo,"  came  echoing  through  the  forest 
from  Len's  lusty  lungs. 

"Come  on,"  she  said,  "it  is  ready." 

The  old  man  followed  her  docilely,  and  the 
young  Crow  helped  him  over  the  drift  wood 

189 


NAYA 

with  a  care  that  was  almost  filial.  Arthur  kept 
directly  behind  Naya.  He  expected  a  knife  in 
his  back,  but  he  meant  to  shield  her,  whatever 
the  cost.  Why  had  she  done  this?  He  thought 
that  he  understood  his  little  Wyoming  cousin 
less  and  less.  The  whole  thing  was  perfectly 
astounding.  Most  girls  would  have  rushed 
back  to  camp  and  let  their  elders  attend  to  the 
amenities  of  chance  acquaintanceship,  but  here 
she  had  approached  these  strangers  without  any 
preliminaries  and,  with  the  air  and  composure 
of  a  princess,  had  invited  the  whole  camp  to 
supper.  The  amazement  of  William  and  Len 
may  well  be  imagined  when  she  appeared  with 
her  retinue  of  two  Crow  Indians  and  a  little  old 
man  in  grotesque  spectacles. 

"The  little  minx,''  said  William,  laughing 
softly  to  himself  as  he  untied  some  antelope 
hams  from  the  branch  of  a  nearby  tree.  Len  had 
caught  a  few  trout  in  Clear  Fork  early  in  the 
afternoon,  which  he  had  prepared  for  their  sup- 
per, but  these,  although  in  moderate  abundance, 
were  plainly  insufficient  for  so  large  a  party. 
However,  with  the  help  of   the   two    friendly 

190 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Indians,  a  bountiful  repast  was  soon  served  for 
all. 

The  old  man  was  installed  on  a  blanket  near 
the  fire,  for  the  nights  were  still  very  cold,  and 
Naya  brought  him  a  little  flat  stone  for  his  cup. 

"May  I  ask  if  that  strange  conchitic  appen- 
dage of  your  offspring  is  real?"  he  asked  of 
William,  who  sat  near  him,  holding  his  nn  plate 
on  his  knee. 

At  Naya*s  look  of  horror  his  face  became 
boyish  with  fun. 

"It  may  look  artificial,  but  it  is  really  the 
work  of  nature,"  he  responded,  patting  her  cheek 
and  purposely  choosing  an  answer  that  would 
mystify  her  still  further. 

"Does  he  mean  my  teeth?"  she  whispered, 
crowding  closer  to  him  and  instinctively  cover- 
ing her  mouth  with  one  hand.  "Does  he  think 
them  not  real?" 

But  her  father  pretended  not  to  hear. 

As  if  forgetting  what  had  momentarily  inter- 
ested him,  the  rambling  thoughts  of  the  un- 
sound mind  wandered  into  another  channel. 

"Yes,  they  say  the  Spaniards  came  very  far 

191 


NAYA 

north,"  assented  William,  as  he  put  a  trout  on 
his  strange  guest's  plate. 

"Ze  dear  Pico,  for  instance,"  said  Len  in  an 
undertone  as  Arthur  passed  the  cup  they  were 
forced  to  share  between  them. 

"It  is  certain,  my  dear  friend.  Washington 
Irving,  in  his  estimable  volume  entitled 
*Astoria'  has  said,  *The  Spaniards  changed  the 
whole  character  and  habits  of  the  Indian  when 
they  brought  the  horse  among  them.'  An  indel- 
ible assurance  is  imprinted  upon  my  mentality." 

The  fanatic  had  some  one  to  listen  to  him,  and 
his  voice  became  tense  and  eager. 

"There  are  manifold  proofs.  The  journal  of 
the  valorous  Lewis  and  Clark  states  that  the 
horses  of  the  aborigines  were  caparisoned  with 
accouterments  of  Hispanic  design.  In  1865 
ruins  of  ancient  stone  dwellings  were  found  in 
this  very  region.  It  is  here  in  these  dark  moun- 
tainous defiles  that  I  seek  the  remains  of  Don 
Juan  de  Onate's  famous  exploration  and  his 
cities  of  fabulous  wealth  and  splendor.  The 
legends  come  to  us  from  the  friars  of  the  holy 
Saint  Francis  of  Assisi.  But,"  and  here  his 
thoughts  strayed  again,  "of  all  extinct  mammalia 

192 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

I  find  the  laelaps  the  most  interesting.  They 
weighed  many  tons,  had  teeth  like  swords,  and 
the  brontosaur — " 

"Hoo-hoo,"  came  from  an  ironic  old  owl 
way  off  in  the  pines,  and  Arthur,  whose  fear  had 
somewhat  abated,  jumped  up  and  began  hop- 
ping around  the  fire  on  one  foot,  saying  the 
other  had  gone  to  sleep.  But  his  actions  were  a 
little  suspicious,  for  a  foot  asleep  is  not  the  fun- 
niest sensation  in  the  world,  as  his  mirth  seemed 
to  testify. 

The  old  gentleman  stuck  to  William  like  a 
plaster.  If  the  latter  went  to  the  creek  for  a 
drink,  there  he  was  at  his  elbow,  with  his  con- 
fused harangue  of  dry  facts  and  visionary  fan- 
cies. It  would  have  been  ludicrous  had  it  not 
been  so  pitiful.  But  the  mischievous  Crow  was 
delighted,  and  when  his  patron  instructed  that 
their  camp  be  moved  next  to  that  of  his  new 
friend,  the  gleeful  Rushing  Wind  (for  by  this 
time  Naya  had  learned  not  only  his  name  but 
his  whole  family  history)  went  off  through  the 
trees  performing  a  series  of  crazy  antics  that 
made  even  the  dismayed  William  laugh. 

Naya's  bed  was  under  a  great  pine  near  the 

193 


NAYA 

creek,  with  a  lacework  of  shrubs  screening  it 
from  the  fire.  The  springy  branches  of  the 
young  fir  formed  a  mattress,  and  on  these  Len 
had  arranged  the  blankets  and  little  pillow. 

A  suggestion  from  her  father  sent  her  early 
to  bed,  but  she  complied  with  great  reluctance, 
for  it  was  still  a  mystery  whether  he  had  meant 
her  teeth  or  her  hair.  Maybe  it  was  her  nose! 
Fearful  thought!  Her  father's  bed  was  close  to 
her  own,  and  she  meant  to  stay  awake  until  he 
came,  but  soon  the  murmer  of  the  stream  grew 
dreamy  and  far  away,  and  the  night  wind,  laden 
with  the  odor  of  balsam  and  the  perfumes  of 
spring,  touched  her  cheek  with  soothing  fingers, 
and  she  slept. 

She  was  awakened  about  five  minutes  after- 
wards, she  thought,  by  a  great  crackling,  and 
there  was  Len  bending  over  the  fire  with  the 
coffee  pot  in  his  hand,  and  the  day  had  begun. 
Her  father  was  still  asleep.  His  fine  face,  grave 
and  quiet  as  a  mask,  was  clearly  discernible  in 
the  gray  dawn,  and  his  great  chest  rose  and  fell 
at  regular  intervals.  Leaning  on  one  elbow, 
she  reached  over  and  lightly  touched  his  cheek 

194 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

with  a  little  forefinger.  He  wakened  with  a 
start,  then  his  face  melted  in  a  sleepy  smile. 

"You  little  torment!  What  do  you  think, 
that  bone  hunter  didn't  let  me  come  to  bed  until 
almost  three  oVlock!  I  burned  all  the  wood 
within  a  radius  of  half  a  mile,  and  when  I  finally 
convinced  him  that  he  needed  rest  for  the  sake 
of  science,  I  was  honestly  so  sleepy  that  I 
reached  up  to  my  head  to  take  off  my  boots." 

Then  with  that  bonne  camaraderie  which 
made  him  the  most  irresistibly  charming  of 
fathers,  he  turned  on  his  side  to  better  see  her 
and  gave  her  a  graphic  account  of  his  midnight 
grapple  with  the  insistent  old  man. 

"It's  all  your  fault,"  he  ended,  "and  I'm  going 
to  tell  him  that  you  are  a  Dinoceras  in  disguise, 
so  that  he  will  follow  and  torment  you  all  the  rest 
of  your  days." 

To  their  unspeakable  relief  and  the  chagrin 
of  the  sociable  Indians,  Len  decoyed  him  to 
another  trail,  describing  some  really  curious 
formations  in  the  direction  advised,  so  after 
breakfast  the  strange  little  party  said  goodby. 

"My  dear  young  men,"  he  said  to  Arthur  and 
Len  as  Rushing  Wind,  crestfallen  but  still  good- 

195 


NAYA 

natured,  came  leading  his  patron's  stout  brown 
nag,  "I  hope  you  will  both  be  paleontologists, 
and  thus  become  noble  aids  in  the  illumination 
of  the  modern  world." 

"Golly!  What  kind  of  a  beast  is  that?"  said 
Arthur  in  Len's  ear,  as  the  departing  guest  turned 
to  William. 

He  assured  him  of  his  hope  to  resume  at  no 
late  date  the  inspiring  conversation  of  the  night 
before,  for  after  examining  the  interesting  de- 
posits which  the  young  man  had  described,  he 
would  return  and  overtake  them. 

"Speakin'  of  hittin'  the  trail,"  said  Len,  fly- 
ing around  with  the  breakfast  things,  "we  won't 
stop  till  we've  reached  the  Tetons." 


196 


CHAPTER  XI 

Souls  made  of  fire,  and  children  of  the  sun, 
With  whom  revenge  is  virtue. 

Young — The  Revenge. 

Five  days  had  passed  since  they  left  the  camp 
on  Big  Piney,  during  which  they  had  wandered 
ever  farther  and  deeper  into  the  wilderness. 
The  third  morning  William  and  Naya  had  left 
the  others,  agreeing  to  meet  them  at  a  stated 
rendezvous  the  evening  of  the  second  day. 

They  found  the  little  sun-suffused  plateau 
with  its  shrine  of  granite,  still  encrusted  with 
snow,  but  the  green  margin  edging  the  drifts 
was  sprinkled  with  flowers,  so  tiny  and  white 
that  they  resembled  bewitched  snowflakes. 
Wreaths  of  blue  forget-me-nots  danced  blithely 
in  the  cold  upland  winds,  their  slender  stems  and 
fair  faces  an  exquisite  tracery  on  the  snows  they 
bordered.  To  defeat  the  wind's  sweeping  pur- 
pose, the  branches  of  the  wild  rose  and  syringa, 
which  they  brought  from  below,  were  pinioned 
with  rocks,  but  it  stripped  the  delicate  pink  and 

197 


NAYA 

white  petals  with  merciless  glee  and  filled  the 
air  as  with  snow  eddies  flushed  with  dawn. 

"Come,  darling,"  said  William,  wrapping 
Naya's  cloak  closer  about  her. 

He  always  restrained  his  grief  in  her  presence, 
and  his  manner  was  as  quiet  as  usual.  Hereto- 
fore their  visits  to  the  sacred  spot  had  filled  her 
heart  only  with  joy  and  tenderness.  She  had 
never  seemed  to  realize  that  her  mother  was 
dead,  and  each  year  this  pilgrimage  in  the 
"Moon  of  Flowers"  was  like  a  mystic  hand 
leading  her  farther  and  farther  into  a  world  of 
dream  thoughts  and  spirits.  But  to-day  her  heart 
was  heavy. 

"No,  no,  father!  Not  yet.  Perhaps  we  come 
not  again,"  and,  assailed  by  a  strange  presenti- 
ment, she  dropped  to  the  ground  sobbing 
piteously. 

He  knelt  so  as  to  shelter  her  from  the  stinging 
wind  and,  although  her  outburst  had  shaken  the 
fortress  of  his  own  grief,  he  steadied  his  trem- 
bling voice  and  talked  to  her  as  only  a  father 
can  talk  to  the  child  he  loves    and  understands. 

The  following  day  they  had  joined  the  others. 
Not  even  to  William  did  she  allude  to  their 

198 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

visit  and  the  unaccountable  wave  of  foreboding 
that  had  swept  over  her,  but  mingled  with  the 
returning  gayety,  which  danced  in  her  like  a 
laughing  mountain  stream,  were  moods  of 
tender  melancholy  that  fell  like  the  shadowy 
twilight  when  it  purples  the    hills. 

On  account  of  the  earliness  of  the  season,  they 
had  confined  themselves  to  the  streams  that  di- 
vide the  lower  abutments  of  the  mountains,  but 
Naya  was  eager  to  show  Arthur  the  view  from 
the  summit,  so,  despite  William's  prediction  of 
cold  and  storm,  they  were  shifting  camp.  The 
two  hunters  had  left  early  in  the  morning,  prom- 
ising to  meet  Len  and  Naya  in  the  afternoon 
on  the  banks  of  a  lake  lying  a  few  miles  higher 
in  the  timber.  It  was  a  beautiful  sunny  day,  and 
the  camp  tenders,  with  their  string  of  pack  ani- 
mals, wended  their  way  slowly  through  the 
twisting  glades,  in  whose  depths  trailed  murmur- 
ing waters,  like  streams  of  diaphanous  light. 

"It  is  the  singing  month.  Hush  to  the  birds," 
said  Naya. 

Len  had  been  unusually  silent  these  many  days, 
and  he  did  not  answer  now,  nor  did  he  listen  to 
the  birds;  but,  as  he  turned  to  look  at  her,  his 

14  W 


NAYA 

hazel  eyes  became  more  clearly  brown,  until 
they  glowed  with  the  rich  depth  one  sometimes 
sees  in  a  topaz.  Then  he  turned  away. 
"No!"  he  said  to  himself,  "no!  no!" 
These  were  days  of  struggle  for  the  young  cow- 
puncher.  He  had  never  analyzed  his  feeling 
for  the  child.  It  was  a  worship  charged  with 
"transcendent  wonder,"  and  mingled  with  the 
aspirations  evoked  by  a  lovely  flower  or  a  sub- 
lime sunset.  But  that  meteorlike  thought  which 
had  flashed  across  the  clear  spaces  of  his  uncon- 
sciousness the  morning  of  their  departure  had 
changed  his  whole  inner  life.  At  first  he  had 
been  so  repelled  by  what  he  considered  his  dis- 
loyalty to  Mr.  Dunsmuir  that  he  had  turned 
from  it  again  and  again  with  unchangeable 
rigidity  of  purpose.  However,  as  the  days 
passed,  it  haunted  him  more  and  more  insist- 
ently, until  with  a  blaze  of  anger,  he  wheeled  to 
face  and  fight  it. 

"In  the  first  place  you  are  unworthy,"  he 
cried,  shaking  this  first  decisive  weapon  at  his 
foe.  But  Len  had  self-respect.  He  had  been  no 
angel,  and  he  knew  it;  but  ever  since  his  uncle 
had  taken  him  from  the  orphan  asylum  and 

200 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

brought  him  West  nine  years  ago,  only  to  die 
soon  after,  leaving  him  a  prey  to  frontier  vice, 
he  had  fought  the  battle  of  life  bravely  and  hon- 
estly, and  alone.  He  recoiled  from  the  word 
^'unv^orthy"  and  substituted  "unfit."  "But  if 
you  are  worthy,  how  can  you  be  unfit?"  answered 
the  voice,  trembling  with  love  and  hope.  Len 
ignored  this  feint.  "Why  she's  nothin'  but  a 
little  child,"  continued  the  scrupulous  con- 
science, "just  like  one  o'  them  little  harebells 
bobbin'  on  the  slope  yonder."  "She's  goin'  on 
fifteen.  In  four  or  five  years  perhaps —  You 
know  where  there  are  mighty  fine  coal  veins; 
why  don't  you  homestead.  Why,  you  could  be 
rich  in  five  years,  and  as  for  learnin',  you  know 
things  that  are  far  more  useful  and  more  beau- 
tiful than  anything  found  in  books."  This  fusil- 
lade of  arguments  silenced  him,  and  he  grasped 
the  saddle  horn  with  all  his  might. 
"Oh!  Oh!"  cried  Naya,  "see  Peggy!" 
That  frivolous  lady  was  certainly  in  a  terrible 
fix.  It  was  a  wonder  that  she  had  not  broken  her 
little  gray  plush  neck,  but  sundry  squeals  of 
fright  and  the  vigorous  movements  of  four 
dainty  hoofs  gave  evidence  that,  once  righted, 


NAYA 

they  would  scamper  about  as  whimsically  as 
ever.  She  lay  prone  on  her  back  some  thirty 
feet  below  the  trail,  whither  she  had  just  jour- 
neyed by  a  series  of  indecorous  somersaults. 
Fortunately  the  arm  of  a  gaunt  pine  had  caught 
her  in  its  embrace  and  her  end  over  end  course 
suddenly  terminated  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice. 
It  was  a  good  deal  her  fault  to  be  sure,  for, 
becoming  bored  with  the  staleness  of  existence, 
she  had  thrown  caution  and  courtesy  to  the 
winds  and,  despite  the  narrowness  of  the  trail, 
tried  to  push  past  Miss  Hattie. 

Now  for  a  long  time  the  pretty  Peggy's 
giddy  manner  had  been  absolutely  unbearable 
to  that  somewhat  acrimonious  spinster,  and  she 
harbored  bitter  memories  of  former  slights  and 
self-assertions.  This  was  too  much.  A  quick 
crowd,  and  poor  Peggy  was  launched  on  the  wild 
career  just  described.  Hattie  was  filled  with 
snappish  satisfaction  until  she  saw  the  unlady- 
like attitude  of  her  victim,  when  she  turned  her 
head  the  other  way,  horror  and  indignation 
consuming  her.  Better  to  have  broken  her  silly 
neck  than  be  guilty  of  such  misdemeanor.  Juni- 
per's genius  as  a  mountaineer  was  retrieving  his 

203 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

damaged  reputation  but,  although  he  tryanized 
over  his  mischievous  inamorata,  it  was  doubtless 
to  conceal  an  unmanly  tenderness  of  heart.  His 
one  eye,  now  softened  in  deep  distress  and  anx- 
iety, rolled  in  her  direction,  while  he  intoned  a 
lament  fit  to  split  the  vaults  of  heaven.  Len 
rapidly  loosened  the  pack  and  the  pretty  creature 
struggled  to  her  feet.  One  would  expect 
humility  after  such  a  downfall,  but  the  menaces 
of  fate  had  no  dampening  effect  on  this  merry 
spirit.  A  few  agile  bounds  and  she  had  re- 
gained the  trail,  however  not  for  a  serious  pur- 
pose it  seemed,  for,  frisking  ahead  of  the  train 
and  around  the  bend,  she  disappeared  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  Len,  who  had  grown  to 
hate  her  almost  as  much  as  the  prim  Miss  Hattie, 
started  in  pursuit  and  soon  returned  with  the 
runaway  at  the  end  of  his  rope. 

Naya  had  slipped  from  her  saddle  and  was 
gathering  a  bouquet  of  quaint  grasses  and  hare- 
bells. 

"How  more  far  to  the  lake?"    she  asked. 

"Just  a  quarter  of  a  mile  over  the  ridge," 
he  said,  tightening  the  cinch  of  the  pack  saddle 

203 


NAYA 

until  Peggy  wrathfully  nipped  his  arm.  "Are 
yougettin'  tired?" 

"  ^Gwacious,  no,'  as  baby  Carver  says,  but  I 
am  most  hungry." 

From  the  crest  of  the  ridge  they  could  see 
the  tiny  lake,  lying  like  an  exquisite  sapphire 
in  its  encircling  fringe  of  rushes  and  water 
lilies.  The  slopes  surrounding  it  were  not  as 
densely  timbered  as  the  canons  they  had  just 
left,  but  here  and  there,  adorning  the  stretches  of 
verdant  meadow,  were  groups  of  hemlock  and 
spruce,  arranged  with  such  an  art  and  precision 
of  touch  that  one  half  expected  to  see  an  ancient 
castle  rising  in  the  midst  of  this  princely  domain. 
A  noble  elk  crashed  through  the  copse  close  by, 
his  great  an  tiered  head  proudly  erect;  and  an 
eagle,  bearing  a  wee  spotted  fawn  in  its  talons, 
slowly  flapped  its  way  toward  the  frowning  cliffs 
at  the  end  of  the  lake.  Exuberant  flowers  of 
countless  hues  seemed  to  stretch  themselves  in 
the  sun,  as  if  making  the  most  of  their  short 
lives  in  this  high  altitude. 

"Yes,"  said  Len  in  response  to  Naya's  exclama- 
tions of  delight,  "as  some  fellow  has  said,  ^There 
are  eight  months  of  winter  and  four  of  late 

204 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

in  the  fall'  up  in  these  high  mountains.  They 
are  makin'  the  most  of  life  while  it  lasts.  That's 
the  way  people  should  do." 

"We  will,"  said  Naya  gaily.  "We  will  make 
a  so  little  cabin  here  on  the  lake  and  we  will  all 
live  here  forever  I" 

"Would  you  really  like  to  live  here  forever — 
in  this  country,  I  mean,  and  not  go  to  England  to 
your  father's  people?" 

They  were  crossing  the  sunlit  meadow  now 
and  driving  the  pack  mules  before  them. 

"It  is  most  curious,"  she  returned  thought- 
fully. "It  makes  me  happy  to  see  the  new  things 
and  the  new  people,  but  when  I  think  of  going 
across  the  great  waters  to  English  grandmother, 
it  is  as  when  I  enter  a  house  with  no  air.  You 
understand?  The  windows  not  open  for  months 
and  months.  It  is  so  with  England.  It  opens 
never  its  windows." 

Len  laughed  and  raced  after  the  pestiferous 
Peggy. 

They  pitched  camp  under  some  great  trees 
which  would  afford  protection  in  case  of  storm. 
One  massive  fir  excited  their  particular  admira- 
tion.   The  tips  of  its  branches,  drooping  to  the 

205 


NAYA 

ground,  had  caught  root  here  and  there,  not 
unlike  the  banyan  of  India,  thus  forming  a  series 
of  little  arched  apartments,  softly  illumined  by 
the  sun. 

The  others  were  not  expected  for  an  hour  or 
more  and,  as  it  was  quite  noon,  they  flew  to 
their  dinner  preparations.  While  Len  made  the 
fire  Naya  ran  to  gather  some  water  lilies.  A  few 
feet  from  their  camp  site  was  a  flat  granite 
ledge,  projecting  in  the  water.  Peering  over  its 
edge  she  saw  such  a  lovely  sight  that  in  mute 
enchantment,  she  cast  herself  face  downward  on 
the  rock  and  beckoned  to  Len. 

"The  water  is  like  air  for  clearness,"  she 
whispered,  "and  the  water  swallows  are  most 
wonderful.    You  must  see  them." 

A  shoal  of  beautiful  speckled  trout  was  swirl- 
ing and  drifting  in  the  deep  water,  in  whose 
crystalline  clearness  their  brilliant  sides  scintil- 
lated like  flame.  Len  was  a  keen  fisherman,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  he  had  caught  enough  for 
dinner. 

The  meal  was  almost  ready  when  the  call  of 
the  hunters  came  echoing  over  the  hills.  Sensible 
old  Rajah  bore  the  pelt  of  a  cinnamon  bear.    As 

206 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

both  Arthur  and  William  had  shot  at  it,  both 
claimed  it,  and  they  had  a  laughing  wrangle  as 
to  who  was  the  rightful  owner.  It  was  the  most 
beautiful  camp  they  had  had,  and  they  were  all 
famished  and  in  the  brightest  spirits. 

"There  is  a  Crow  tradition  that  when  a  war- 
rior falls  in  battle  he  has  but  one  step  from 
here  to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds.  It  seems 
to  me  that  we  are  already  there,"  said  William, 
casting  a  look  of  content  at  the  splendor  of  their 
surroundings,  as  he  threw  himself  on  the  ground 
by  the  square  of  white  oilcloth  that  served  as  a 
table.  The  shining  plates  rested  on  dark 
green  lily  pads,  and  the  dazzling  white  blos- 
soms, scattered  among  the  dishes,  filled  the  air 
with  their  fragrance.  The  array  of  food  would 
certainly  have  shocked  any  self-respecting 
pantry  shelf  with  its  rows  of  pumpkin  pies  and 
doughnuts,  Dutch  oven  bread,  the  shade  of  a 
pale  brown  autumn  leaf,  fried  trout,  and  slices 
of  crisp  bacon,  grouse  stew  with  rice  and  dump- 
lings, and  a  wonderful  pudding  stuffed  with 
dried  fruit.  Len  was  evidently  as  adept  in 
wielding  the  cooking  spoon  as  the  lasso  of  the 
round-up,  but,  as  always,  he  belittled  his  own 

207 


NAYA 

efforts,  no  matter  what  their  direction,  and  when 
pudding  time  came  it  was  introduced  by  the 
following  original  lines,  sung  to  the  tune  of 
"My  Country  'T  is  of  Thee:" 

Dried  prunes  it  is  at  thee 
I  hurl  a  frantic  plea — 

You  'd  better  git. 
Don't  dare  to  show  your  face, 
I  '11  kick  you  off  the  place; 
Lasting  is  your  disgrace, 

The  trail  you  '11  hit. 

Arthur  was  in  a  hilarious  mood,  induced  by 
the  conquest  of  the  cinnamon  bear,  and  the  fool- 
ish doggerel  filled  him  with  glee. 

"Write  out  the  rest  of  'em,  Len,  and  Til  sing 
too.    I  know  there  are  ten  thousand  more." 

So  Len  fished  out  a  stubby  pencil  and  soon  the 
national  hymn  was  transformed  to  the  "Ode  to 
Camping  Out." 

Hard  bacon  rinds  and  tea, 
I'm  pretty  sick  of  thee 

And  bayo  beans  too; 
I  want  a  beefsteak  bone. 
My  pillow  is  a  stone. 
My  fate  I  loud  bemoan, 

With  this  I  'm  through. 

208 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

It  's  rainin'  like  the  deuce, 
By  Gum !  my  back  's  a  sluice, 

The  bed  's  a  lake. 
The  wood  is  soakin'  wet, 
A  fire  I  cannot  get, 
Right  here  I  '11  have  to  set 

Till  plumb  daybreak. 

A  worm  crawls  on  my  neck, 
I  guess  I  '11  be  a  wreck. 

You  need  n't  smile. 
Great  Scott!  a  rattlesnake. 
What  wonder  that  I  quake; 
My  thirst  I  'd  like  to  slake, 

I  *ve  run  a  mile. 


A  dnder  's  in  my  eye, 
The  wind  is  fierce.    Oh,  my. 
The  smoke  is  bad. 
It   tags   me  everywhere 
I  dodge  it  like  a  hare. 
Blacker  grows  my  despair, 
I  'm  goin'  mad. 

The  pancakes  are  burnt  up, 
My  pipe  and  coffee  cup 
I  've  lost  outright. 
There  ain't  a  thing  to  eat. 
No  whisky  for  a  treat, 
This  thing  's  got  me  plum  beat, 
I'll  die  to-night. 

209 


NAYA 

Yes,  sir,  oh,  darn  my  luck, 
A  great  big  rock  I  struck. 

And  then  the  ground. 
Oh,  say,  there  was  a  crash, 
My  bottle  went  to  smash. 
The  whisky  all  did  splash 

For  miles  around. 


Buck  fever  's  just  a  curse, 
I'd  sooner  drive  a  hearse, 

What  ails  my  knees? 
A  quakin'  asp  am  I, 
If  bear  I  chance  to  spy ; 
Just  hear  that  cougar's  cry 
Off  in  the  trees. 

Blast  me,  ain't  it  odd 

I  'd  's  soon  be  under  sod — 

You  need  n't  roar. 
It  's  queer,  but  I  '11  be  cussed, 
I  guess  my  heart  would  bust, 
I  'd  mildew  plumb  and  rust. 

To  come  no  more. 

I  love  the  fair  blue  sky; 
When  on  the  ground  I  lie. 

It  seems  so  near. 
I  love  the  singin'  stream. 
The  lovely  moon's  bright  beam. 
When  trees  and  flowers  dream, 

Oh  life,  so  dear! 

210 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Shucks,"  said  Len,  "I  thought  we  were  goin' 
up  to  the  summit  before  dark." 

He  ran  for  the  horses,  while  Naya  and  Arthur 
washed  the  dishes.  William  lay  on  his  back, 
smoking  and  listening  to  the  chatter  of  the 
children. 

"It  doesn't  look  more  than  half  a  mile,"  said 
Arthur. 

"It  is  many  I  think,"  replied  Naya,  looking 
at  the  wide  band  of  timber  and  the  mighty  bul- 
warks of  granite  which  surmounted  it. 

And  her  prophecy  proved  true.  The  trail  led 
no  farther  than  the  lake,  so  they  had  to  break 
one  for  themselves,  following  the  knife-like 
ridges  and  plunging  through  the  deep  canons 
many  of  them  still  lined  with  strips  of  snow,  until 
they  were  confronted  with  such  precipitous 
masses  of  rock  that  they  were  compelled  to 
abandon  their  horses.  The  day  was  drawing  to 
a  close,  and  the  mountain  winds  lashed  them 
with  sudden  icy  fury. 

"It  is  a  whole  month  too  early  for  an  escapade 
of  this  sort,"  said  William,  a  little  vexed  with 
himself  for  having  yielded  against  his  better 
judgment.  "I'm  suspicious  of  these  early  springs. 

211 


NAYA 

Be  careful  there,  darling,  catch  hold  of  that 
bush." 

He  had  gone  a  little  ahead  of  the  others  to 
reconnoiter.  He  need  not  have  been  anxious  for 
her  safety,  for  Len  was  close  behind  and 
watched  every  step  she  made. 

"Shades  of  Mrs.  Warren,  tie  this  over  your 
head,"  he  said,  drawing  a  red  silk  handkerchief 
from  his  pocket. 

They  paused  for  a  moment  on  one  of  the  nar- 
row ledges  which  gave  them  foothold  on  the 
granite  wall.  Naya  peered  over  the  edge  with  as 
little  dizziness  and  fear  as  a  bird  and  then  looked 
up  at  the  ragged  crags  above,  their  mantles  of 
ice  and  snow  beginning  to  glisten  in  a  sunset  they 
could  not  see. 

"They  look  so  stern,"  she  remarked,  "quite 
as  if  they  have  no  pleasure  that  we  would  see  the 
beautiful  things  they  guard." 

William  smiled  at  her,  for  her  quick  fancy 
was  his  delight. 

A  few  more  scrambles  and  they  were  at  the 
top.  The  magnificence  of  the  spectacle  shook 
even  Arthur's  prosaic  soul.  In  the  far  west 
masses  of  inky  clouds  warred  with  the  departing 

212 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

sun,  which  rent  them  asunder  with  a  thousand 
flashing  bayonets  of  blood  red  and  gorgeous 
gold,  while  chain  after  chain  of  snowy  moun- 
tains trembled  dimly  in  the  distance,  like  troops 
of  vestal  virgins  chanting  their  evening  prayer  to 
the  wrathful  heavens.  The  Powder,  Tongue 
and  Bighorn  rivers  with  their  multitudinous 
water  courses,  could  be  traced  northward  until 
they  disappeared  in  the  breaks  of  the  Yellow- 
stone, covering  the  land  with  a  tracery  that 
sparkled  like  a  tangled  skein  of  silver  threads. 
Stretches  of  plain,  like  vast  inland  seas,  seemed 
to  rock  at  the  bases  of  the  mighty  mountains, 
folding  deep  in  their  silent  bosoms  the  tragedy 
of  the  earth's  birth  and  the  legends  of  ancient 
peoples  long  since  claimed  by  the  Mystery  that 
gives  but  to  take  again. 

"Like  leaves  on  trees  the  race  of  man  is  found — 
Now  green  in  youth,  now  withering  in  the  ground : 
Another  race  the  following  spring  supplies." 

Naya  turned  to  her  father  with  an  expression 
of  terror  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"The  sun  has  fallen  to  a  sea  of  fire,  and  the 
mountains  are  ghosts  fleeing  from  the  so  terrible 


storm." 


213 


NAYA 

Her  dramatic  imagination  was  all  aflame,  and 
her  observations  filled  William  with  wonder. 

A  double  rainbow  encircled  some  distant  hills 
like  a  brilliant  sash,  and  a  misty  wall  of  rain 
glanced  far  on  the  Bighorn  plain. 

"It  comes  not  here,"  said  Naya.  "The  Great 
Spirit  ties  the  rain  demons  with  the  rainbow, 
and,  see,  there  are  two,  enough  to  tie  them  all." 
Then  presently,  "It  is  the  skirt  of  the  beauti- 
ful rain  goddess.  We  can  see  not  her  face  and 
hair,  they  are  high  in  the  clouds  and  all  drip- 
ping with  rain  drops.  And  the  river  1  She  has 
dropped  her  necklace.  It  is  like  the  string  of 
crystals  in  the  fairy  book." 

William  had  drawn  her  to  the  shelter  of  a 
boulder,  but  the  cold  rapidly  increased  and  they 
reluctantly  began  their  descent. 

"Where  are  the  boys?  Oh,  here  you  are. 
Where  did  you  find  them?" 

Len  had  a  handful  of  white  shells,  which 
bore  eloquent  testimony  of  the  transformations 
and  the  former  strifes  of  nature. 

"Just  think,"  said  the  cow-puncher,  "if  we 
had  been  here  a  million  years  ago,  we  would 
probably    have    been    queer    water    creatures, 

214 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

clingin'  to  these  rocks  in  the  middle  of  a  sea. 
Mighty  strange,  all  right.  It  certainly  sets  a  man 
a  thinkin'." 

*'Len,  you  are  quite  like  the  big-word  man  on 
Piney.  Pretty  soon  we  will  know  no  more 
what  you  talk  about,"  and  Naya  laughed  mis- 
chievously over  her  father's  shoulder  as  he 
lifted  her  down  a  steep  place. 

Len  looked  a  little  chagrined.  He  loathed 
the  terrific  words  and  pompous  paraphernalia 
that  shackle  erudition,  but  he  delighted  in  fath- 
oming the  simpler  secrets  of  nature.  He  knew 
where  the  birds  nested  and  could  imitate  their 
cries,  and  where  the  sea-green  eyed  coyote 
chose  his  lair,  and  where  to  find  the  prettiest 
flowers  and  autumn  leaves. 

"If  ever  I  get  skewed  like  that  fellow,"  he 
said,  "I'll  just  pass  in  my  checks." 

Soon  after  they  mounted  their  horses  they 
passed  a  deer  lick,  trodden  with  fresh  tracks. 
Arthur's  year  of  frontier  life  had  taught  him, 
among  many  other  things  not  in  the  curriculum 
of  Clifdale  schools,  that  deer  very  often  clus- 
ter about  the  licks  at  nightfall,  and  he  begged 
to  conceal  himself  for  fifteen  minutes  and  try 

16  215 


NAYA 

his  luck.  His  prudence  and  excellent  judgment 
had  won  the  confidence  of  his  elders  and,  readily 
assenting,  William  helped  him  choose  a  blind  in 
some  dense  alders. 

"But  only  a  few  minutes,  you  know,  for  the 
sun  will  soon  be  down.  Follow  this  ridge  and 
cross  the  cafion  to  the  left." 

"Yes,  I  know;  I  will  catch  you  at  the  end  of 
the  first  mile,"  said  Arthur  eagerly,  wishing  they 
would  hasten. 

But  he  failed  to  overtake  them,  and  by  the 
time  they  reached  camp  dark  clouds  were 
scudding  across  the  sky,  followed  by  gusts  of 
cold  wind  and  rain. 

"I  wish  that  boy  would  hurry,"  said  William, 
a  little  anxiously.  "He  is  a  sensible  little  devil 
and  as  true  as  a  compass  in  his  sense  of  direc- 
tion, but  perhaps  I  should  not  have  permitted 
him  to  stay  behind.  My,  what  a  ranchman  he 
is  going  to  make!" 

They  had  hoisted  a  little  canvas  tent  under 
one  of  the  trees,  and  he  and  Len  were  sur- 
rounding it  with  a  trench,  for  the  rain  was  rap- 
idly increasing. 

"I  guess  the  Great  Spirit  forgot  to  tie  a  double 

216 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

knot  with  the  rainbows.  The  rain  demons  are 
broke  loose,"  said  Naya. 

She  sat  in  the  opening  of  the  tent,  dreamily 
watching  the  camp  fire  as  it  leaped  and  sput- 
tered in  the  storm.  There  was  a  stir  in  the 
bunch  of  horses  and,  with  one  accord,  they  came 
trotting  close  to  camp,  as  if  entreating  human 
companionship  and  sympathy. 

"I  wonder  what  scared  'em,"  said  Len,  "just 
the  wind,  probably." 

It  was  quite  dark  now.  There  came  the  faint 
report  of  a  rifle. 

"Arthur!"  said  William.  "He  must  be  lost. 
It  is  too  dark  to  shoot  at  anything." 

He  fired  an  answering  shot,  hoping  it  would 
serve  as  a  guide.  Evidently  it  was  audible  to 
the  boy,  but  the  echoes  had  deceived  him,  for  his 
second  shot  was  fainter  than  the  first. 

"The  compass  has  snapped  his  needle.  He's 
goin'  in  the  opposite  direction.  I'll  just  give 
Comet  a  little  exercise,"  and  Len  took  up  his 
bridle. 

"No I  No!"  said  William,  "I'll  go.  Rajah's 
right  here  and  I  know  these  mountains  like  the 
palm  of  my  hand." 

217 


NAYA 

Divining  he  would  feel  easier  to  go  himself, 
Len  made  no  argument,  but  hastily  threw  on  the 
saddle,  while  William  hunted  his  whisky  flask. 

"He  will  be  wet  through,"  he  said,  and  in 
another  moment  he  was  gone. 

They  soon  heard  a  shot,  but  from  its  nearness, 
recognized  it  as  William's  signal.  They  listened 
intently.    There  was  no  answer. 

"Poor  youngster,"  said  Len,  "he  hung 
around  the  deer  lick  too  long,  and  he  can't  even 
see  his  horse's  head.  Whew!  That'll  give  'em 
a  little  light." 

There  was  a  wild  play  of  lightning  about  the 
peaks  above,  giving  them  a  glimpse  of  radiant 
lake  and  forest;  then  all  was  plunged  in  black- 
ness. This  was  followed  by  a  terrific  crash  of 
thunder  and  a  fresh  downpour  of  rain,  which 
beat  dully  on  the  heavily  branched  trees  and 
poured  into  the  lake  like  a  cloud-burst.  Len 
wrapped  a  blanket  close  about  Naya  and,  after 
stimulating  the  drenched  fire,  took  a  seat  close 
by  her  in  the  tent. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  replied.  "The  Great  Spirit 
speaks  to  us  by  the  storm.    He  says,  *I  am 

218 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

mighty.'  Do  you  not  hear?  I  am  full  of  sor- 
row that  they  are  in  the  rain,  but  I  have  no  fear 
for  them.  Lennie,"  she  continued,  warming  his 
heart  with  her  sweet  diminutive,  "I  know  a 
secret.    Shall  I  say  it  to  you?" 

Len  nodded. 

She  drew  from  around  her  neck  a  bundle  of 
magpie  feathers,  tied  with  some  of  her  hair. 

"It  is  my  new  medicine,"  she  whispered,  her 
eyes  dilating  with  superstitious  awe.  "I  had  a 
dream.  A  magpie  flew  over  my  bed  when  I  was 
sleeping  and  did  brush  my  face  with  his  wing, 
so  that  I  awoke.  Then  he  turned  and  looked  at 
me  with  most  strange  eyes,  saying,  *My  tail  is 
enchanted.  To-morrow  I  die.  Bury  the  feath- 
ers one  at  the  time,  and  a  magic  circle  will  be 
about  you  and  the  people  you  love.  The  Evil 
Spirit  can  pass  it  not.'  And  the  very  next  day 
Arthur  shot  a  magpie,  the  same  one,  I  know, 
for  it  had  most  strange  eyes,  and  I  did  save  its 
tail  and  I  do  bury  the  feathers,  one  at  the  time. 
That  is  why  Peggy  broke  not  her  neck,  and  why 
we  did  escape  the  big-word  man,"  and  the  be- 
witching little  sorceress  concealed  her  treasures 

219 


NAYA 

under  her  dress  and  hugged  her  knees  in 
content. 

Len  felt  like  a  little  boy  listening  to  a  fairy 
story.  He  was  about  to  speak,  but  there  was  a 
frightful  glare  and  a  bolt  of  lightning  crashed 
into  the  forest  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake, 
taking  a  great  pine  with  it.  Naya  patted  her 
"medicine"  and  never  flinched.  Len  leaped  to 
his  feet. 

"I  think  ril  just  take  a  look  at  the  horses. 
I  won't  be  gone  but  a  minute." 

He  came  back  presently,  saying  in  utter  dis- 
gust, "TheyVe  stampeded  entirely.  It's  that 
little  gray  Peggy  mule,  I  know.  She's  a  perfect 
racer  even  with  the  hobbles  on,  and  she's  tried  to 
start  the  bunch  for  the  ranch  a  dozen  times. 
It's  goin'  to  clear  up,  the  moon's  right  there 
on  the  edge  of  that  cloud  now,  and  I  guess 
I'll  take  a  little  turn  down  the  trail.  If 
they  ever  get  well  started,  they'll  head  straight 
for  Powder.  You're  quite  safe,  for  there 
ain't  a  soul  within  twenty-five  miles,  and 
the  beasts  won't  come  near  a  fire."  He  heaped 
on  more  wood  and,  catching  up  a  rope,  hastened 
off  down  the  shore  of  the  lake. 

220 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Just  a  few  minutes,"  he  called  reassuringly, 
casting  a  backward  glance  at  the  camp. 

The  rain  suddenly  ceased,  following  the  thun- 
der clouds  that  roared  and  rumbled  down  the 
mountain  side,  and  a  magic  burst  of  moonlight 
stenciled  the  straight  black  pines  against  the 
sheen  of  sky  and  water.  It  never  occurred  to 
Naya  to  be  afraid.  She  was  too  thoroughly  a 
child  of  the  wilderness.  She  thought  a  cup  of 
tea  might  be  welcome  to  the  wayfarers  and 
raked  some  fiery  embers  for  the  teapot.  Then 
she  began  toasting  some  bits  of  venison  on  the 
forked  willow  wand  Len  had  cut  for  her,  paus- 
ing now  and  then  to  gaze  at  the  fairy  lake  and 
dazzle  of  water  lilies,  which  filled  the  air 
with  their  rain-drenched  fragrance.  The  forest, 
darkly  mysterious  and  aloof,  lay  wrapped  in 
somber  dreams.  A  night  hawk  suddenly  flew 
over  head,  tearing  the  silken  silence  with  its 
harsh,  uncanny  cry,  and  from  the  far  distance 
came  the  mournful  note  of  a  wolverine. 

Naya  felt  that  some  one  was  behind  her  and 
turned  swiftly.  It  was  White  Buffalo,  the 
Blackfoot  chief.  For  one  instant  she  was  like  a 
startled  young  doe  of  the  forest,  with  head  thrown 

aai 


NAYA 

back  and  eyes  frantic  with  fear.  Then  the  self- 
control,  inherited  from  generations  of  Indian 
ancestors,  came  to  her  assistance  and  mantled  her 
face  with  an  impenetrable  stoicism. 

The  tall,  blanketed  figure  of  the  chief  was 
somewhat  in  the  shadow,  but  occasional  gleams 
of  firelight  cast  in  relief  the  bold-featured  face, 
with  its  tyrannous  eyes. 

"Come,  Nayatohta,"  he  said  in  a  deep  voice 
not  lacking  in  kindness. 

The  Indian  holds  his  kindred  in  deep  regard, 
and  the  chief's  eyes  were  full  of  pride  as  he  no- 
ticed her  show  of  regal  indifference. 

*Wun-nes-tou  is  a  fool  if  he  thinks  Nayatohta 
goes  to  live  with  the  Indian,"  she  responded 
coldly. 

Oh,  Len,  dear  Len,  why  didn't  he  hurry? 
The  pounding  of  her  heart  was  frightful,  and 
she  was  glad  that  Arthur's  coat  sleeves  covered 
her  trembling  hands. 

White  Buffalo  took  a  threatening  step. 

"Be  quick,"  he  said  angrily,  "thou  art  a  Black- 
foot.  Thy  place  is  not  with  thy  thieving  white 
father." 

Before  he  could  prevent,  she  snatched  a  blaz- 

222 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

ing  knot  from  the  fire,  and  with  eyes  as  fierce 
as  his,  hurled  it  at  him  with  all  her  might.  He 
dodged  and  caught  her  by  the  wrists. 

"Stars-on-the-River  should  be  called  the 
Wild-Cat-Who-Throws-Fire." 

She  saw  that  resistance  was  useless  and  in- 
stantly became  as  stoical  as  before. 

"I  will  go,"  she  said  briefly,  and  he  loosened 
his  hold.  "I  may  go  to  the  moeese  for  my 
clothes?" 

He  nodded,  and  tearing  off  the  tarpaulin  that 
covered  the  commissary  department,  gorged  like 
a  wolf.  All  that  he  had  no  time  to  eat  he  swept 
into  a  fold  of  his  blanket. 

Naya  found  William's  portfolio  on  his  bed 
and,  feeling  for  the  pencil,  wrote  haphazard  in 
the  dark,  "Gone  with  W,"  then  she  fell  to  kiss- 
ing his  pillow,  trying  to  smother  her  sobs. 

"Quick,"  said  the  Indian  harshly,  lifting  the 
flap. 

She  took  her  flour  sack  and  followed  in  si- 
lence. A  shout  from  the  end  of  the  meadow  told 
her  that  Len  was  returning.  With  a  wild  leap 
of  hope  she  would  have  answered,  but  the  Indian 
covered  her  mouth  with  one  hand  and  with  the 

223 


NAYA 


Other  dragged  her  noiselessly  through  the  fern 
brake  back  of  the  tent  and  into  a  dense  clump 
of  firs,  where  Iron  Horn  held  the  horses. 
Then  they  mounted  and  headed  northward. 


224 


I 


CHAPTER  XII 

That,  in  tracing  the  shade,  I  shall  find  out  the  sun. 
Trust  to  me ! 

LYTiON—Lucile. 

Len  was  returning  without  the  horses.  He 
had  not  found  them  at  the  head  of  the  canon  as 
he  had  hoped  to  do  and,  although  he  felt  that 
a  half  hour's  run  down  the  trail  would  enable 
him  to  catch  them,  he  remembered  that  Naya 
was  alone  and  decided  to  wait  until  daybreak 
before  pursuing  them  farther.  The  meadow 
grass,  often  waist  deep,  was  dripping  with  rain, 
and  a  dip  in  the  lake  could  not  have  left  him 
more  thoroughly  soaked.  But  the  varied  dis- 
comforts of  outdoor  existence,  so  diabolic  to  the 
tenderfoot,  are  merely  incidental  and  unworthy 
of  notice  to  the  man  of  the  lasso  and  the  range. 
He  hummed  a  little  tune  and  peered  toward  the 
camp  fire,  a  gleam  of  yellow  flame  in  the  green- 
ish silver  of  the  moonlight.  It  was  intensely 
cold.     He  must  heat  a  piece  of  granite  for  her 

225 


NAYA 

bed.  Magpie  feathers  I  Enchanted  tail!  He 
could  not  help  laughing  a  little. 

What  a  strange  thing  is  inheritance!  One 
constantly  forgot  Naya  was  an  Indian,  then  sud- 
denly, like  a  stream  flowing  underground,  the 
mysticism  and  fiery  soul  of  her  ancestors  burst  to 
the  surface,  and  one  saw,  as  in  a  vision,  generation 
after  generation  of  the  ancient  race  under  the 
shadow  of  an  invincible  fate,  marching  silently 
toward  the  setting  sun  which  for  them  would 
rise  no  more. 

Len's  thoughts  drifted.  That  queer  old  trap- 
per he  had  run  across  one  fall  over  on  a  fork  of 
the  Popo-agie  had  told  him  that  the  Indians  are 
the  Lost  Tribes  of  Israel.  Perhaps!  Poor  per- 
secuted race;  like  the  buffalo,  it  is  doomed  to 
extinction.  Len  was  not  sentimental  about  the 
Indian,  but  he  knew  there  were  two  distinct 
sides  to  the  question,  and  he  was  moved  to  pity 
when  he  thought  of  them.  It  was  all  right  to 
glorify  the  army  for  its  wonderful  heroism  and 
tenacity  in  wresting  these  last  superb  hunting 
grounds  from  their  savage  tenants;  the  memories 
of  its  bitter  sacrifices  and  brilliant  victories  will 
live  forever  in  the  heart  of  America.    But  what 

226 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

of  the  hated,  strangled  race  whose  subjugation 
alone  made  these  triumphs  possible? 

The  young  cow-puncher's  mind  was  unfold- 
ing. It  was  like  a  splendid  young  oak  which, 
shackled  and  restrained  by  its  surroundings,  sud- 
denly feels  a  giant  vitality  in  its  mighty  limbs 
and,  with  the  impetus  of  latent  power,  bursts 
into  branch  and  leaf  and  the  beauty  which  was 
God's  intention.  Sometimes  there  came  such  a 
feeling  of  deep  inner  mastery  and  expansion 
that  he  could  have  shouted  for  joy.  In  those  mo- 
ments he  felt  as  if  he  could  juggle  the  Bighorn 
Mountains  in  one  hand  and  whirl  the  Powder 
River  like  a  ribbon  in  the  other;  as  if  no  heroism, 
no  mental  task  nor  moral  obligation  could  be  a 
sufficient  test  of  his  colossal  strength.  His  mind 
tackled  anything  and  everything  that  came  be- 
neath its  notice  with  a  force  and  thoroughness 
that  were  surprising.  The  absurd  and  faulty 
policy  of  the  nation  toward  that  first  American, 
the  Indian,  was  etched  on  his  brain  in  black  and 
white.  Why  not  have  been  honest  in  negotia- 
tion, why  not  have  made  them  citizens  as  did  her 
Majesty  the  Queen,  thus  encouraging  their  self- 
respect  and  dignity,  instead  of  debasing  them 

227 


NAYA 

into  cooped-up  dependents.  Len  imagined  he 
could  hear  the  sarcastic  laugh  of  the  long  line  of 
gray-haired  statesmen  and  generals  who  had 
grappled  with  the  question  face  to  face.  Yes, 
he  knew  their  arguments.  He  too  had  had  a 
border  experience  with  the  natives,  which  re- 
veals only  their  most  revolting  characteristics; 
but,  if  met  with  the  simple  honesty  which  would 
have  been  theirs  too,  in  fair  dealing,  and  with 
such  qualities  to  work  with — courage,  devotion 
to  family,  generosity,  intelligence,  pride — what 
might  not  have  been  attained?  He  glowed  with 
the  vision  of  some  day  erecting  a  mighty  monu- 
ment on  the  great  plains  yonder,  and  cut  deep 
in  the  splendid  bronze  should  be  the  memories 
and  traditions  and  the  sad  history  of  a  fated  race. 
Red  Cloud  had  once  said,  "White  man  lies  and 
steals.  My  lodges  were  many  but  now  they  are 
few.  The  white  man  wants  all.  The  white  man 
must  fight  and  the  Indian  will  die  where  his 
fathers  died."  Naya's  fathers! — for  the  petty 
tribal  distinctions  disappear  in  this  mutual 
tragedy  of  death  and  devastation.  Little  Naya ! 
Beloved  child!  She  has  many  of  their  traits — 
— the  imagination,  the  pride — yes,  the  Indian 

228 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

pride  was  hers  all  right.    That  d scoundrel 

from  Poison  Spider!  Len  clenched  his  fist  in 
sudden  anger. 

An  ugly  reputation  had  followed  the  Christ- 
mas newcomer,  and  he  had  proved  his  right  to 
it.  One  day  a  familiar  remark  had  been  met 
with  haughtiness  on  Naya's  side,  and  afterwards 
in  the  corral  the  wag  had  used  his  tongue  rather 

freely.    "Nuthin'  but  a  d little  squaw.  He'd 

take  the  pride  out  o'  her  some  day.''  Having 
momentarily  laid  aside  his  cartridge  belt  and  its 
formidable  adjunct,  Len  had  seized  a  quirt  and 
lashed  the  man  across  the  mouth.  The  whole 
bunk  house  had  been  on  his  side  and,  after  vari- 
ous threats,  the  man  from  Poison  Spider  had 
taken  his  departure. 

The  shore  of  the  lake  was  reached  now  and 
right  there  was  the  camp.  Len's  pulse  sudden- 
ly raced.  How  he  would  love  to  give  his  life  in 
her  defense — in  her  service,  and  then  if  by  and 
by — !  He  could  have  knelt  to  the  beautiful  holy 
thought. 

There  came  a  shout,  and  he  saw  two  horse- 
men issuing  from  the  verge  of  the  wood  not  far 

aag 


NAYA 

away.  Naya  was  not  by  the  fire;  probably  she 
had  gone  into  the  tent  to  arrange  her  things. 

"Here  they  are,"  he  called.  "The  compass 
has  mended  his  needle." 

William  groaned  as  he  dismounted. 

"Rajah  slipped  on  some  beastly  wet  needles, 
and  Fm  afraid  my  ankle  is  sprained.  I  jumped, 
but  he  just  caught  me,"  and  he  limped  toward 
the  fire. 

"I'm  a  nice  one.  It's  all  my  fault,"  said 
Arthur  ruefully.  "I  guess  the  woods  around 
Clifdale  are  all  I'm  up  to.  But  Jiminy,  it  was 
like  riding  in  my  coffin.  I  couldn't  see  a  thing, 
and  I  suppose  I  kept  pulling  Firefly  the  wrong 
way.  Got  a  deer  though,  you  bet.  He's  hang- 
ing on  a  tree  up  there.  Firefly  wouldn't  let  me 
pack  him." 

He  was  helping  unsaddle. 

"We  must  stake  'em  or  they'll  follow  the 
others,"  and  Len  began  to  tell  him  about  the 
stampede. 

"Why,  where  is  Naya?"  called  William. 

"Ain't  she  in  the  tent?"  asked  Len,  hastily 
tying  Rajah  to  the  nearest  tree.  "I  went  down 
to  the  head  of  the  canon  to  see  if  I  couldn't  turn 

230 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

the  horses.  I  wasn't  gone  more  than  ten  or  fif- 
teen minutes  and  just  came  in  when  you  did.  I 
thought  she  was  in  the  tent." 

"She  is  probably  up  to  her  waist  in  that  icy 
water,  picking  lilies  out  in  the  moonlight,"  said 
William  without  great  anxiety.  "She  is  a  perfect 
Will-o-the-wisp  in  the  mountains.  "Nayal 
Naya!"  he  called,  but  an  eerie  echo  floating  far 
on  the  silent  lake  was  the  only  response.  "Why, 
where  did  she  go?" 

Len's  face  grew  white. 

"Look!"  he  said,  "everything's  upset.  Do  you 
think  it  was  a  bear?" 

He  found  the  lantern,  but  his  hand  shook  so 
that  he  could  hardly  light  it.  William,  uncon- 
scious of  his  ankle,  seized  it  and  ran  into  the 
tent. 

"It's  those  d Blackfeet.    I  knew  it  before 

I  saw  this,"  and  he  held  the  portfolio  toward  the 
boys. 

Suddenly  he  lost  his  English  gentleman  aspect 
and  the  lantern's  dim  light  shone  on  a  fierce- 
eyed  frontiersman,  with  face  as  pale  and  deter- 
mined as  death.  A  great  sob  rose  to  Len's 
throat;  after  all  he  was  little  more  than  a  boy. 

16  231 


NAYA 

He  caught  at  it  with  his  thin  brown  hand.  ^This 
is  no  time  for  crying  but  for  acting  you  cussed 
baby  idiot,"  he  said  to  himself. 

William's  foot  was  swelling  frightfully,  and 
Len  began  taking  off  his  boot. 

^We  can't  do  anything  till  daylight,"  he  said 
in  a  steady  voice.  "We  can't  trail  'em  in  the 
dark,  and  we'd  only  loose  time  by  tryin'.  I'll 
just  fix  this  ankle  with  some  cold  water  and 
truck  Mrs.  Warren  gave  me,  and  we'll  get  dried 
out  and  ready  to  start.  It's  a  mighty  aggravatin' 
plan."  He  and  Arthur  began  preparations.  The 
latter  moved  about  mechanical  and  dazed,  for 
he  thought  by  some  curious  twist,  he  had  come 
to  live  in  one  of  his  own  "Leather  Stocking 
Tales"  that  so  often  haunted  his  dreams.  Soon 
a  big  pot  of  venison  was  on  the  fire,  and  Len  was 
mixing  another  batch  of  bread.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  not  thinking  of  their  comfort. 

"Mustn't  shoot  when  you're  trailin'  Indians, 
even  if  the  game's  thicker'n  grass.  She'll  be 
hungry  on  that  homeward  run.  Let's  see — five 
hours — six  hours  start,  and  they've  got  relays 
fixed  along  the  way."  He  was  talking  half  to 
himself. 

232 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

William  sat  absently  drinking  his  tea,  one  cup 
after  another.  He  was  afraid  a  ligament  in  his 
ankle  was  torn.  The  pain  was  frightful.  Why 
couldn't  these  thunderbolts  have  fallen  separate- 
ly? But  he  would  go  if  it  killed  him.  Arthur 
must  stay  here  until  Dougal  came  the  next  night 
and  direct  him  to  come  north  with  horses.  He 
and  Len  would  pursue  the  trail  at  daybreak. 

Wun-nes-tou  was  a  sly  devil.  Good  behavior 
and  thrift  had  won  the  good-will  of  the  agency 
people  and  he,  with  his  party,  had  been  per- 
mitted to  leave  the  reservation  to  hunt  and  trap. 
Think  of  their  coming  all  this  way!  It  was  in- 
credible, but  the  Indian  travels  like  a  bird.  They 
had  skirted  civilization  and  secreted  their  camp 
in  some  wild  mountain  fastness.  But  where? 
Bighorn,  Wolf,  Rosebud  mountains?  The  trail 
would  solve  that  question  if  their  wily  methods 
had  not  completely  covered  it.  Why,  what  did 
they  expect  to  attain  by  such  a  violent  move? 
They  were  like  children  in  their  reasoning — 
sometimes;  but  what  determination,  what  cun- 
ning! Of  course  if  he  and  Len  did  not  find  her 
soon,  he  would  report  it  and  arouse  the  country. 
In  this  extremity  even  she  would  have  him  do  it, 

233 


NAYA 

despite  her  sorrow  for  their  wrongs  and  her  sym- 
pathy with  their  defiance. 

Len  was  silently  packing  his  little  sack  of  pro- 
visions. William  had  made  no  response  to  his 
plans,  and  the  young  cow-puncher's  heart  was 
bursting  with  doubt  and  grief.  His  own  con- 
science was  vindicating,  but  he  wondered  if  Wil- 
liam blamed  him.  William  caught  sight  of  his 
face,  grown  suddenly  drawn  and  old,  and  divin- 
ing his  thoughts,  rose  and  stretched  out  his 
hand. 

"Don't  think,  Len,  my  boy,  that  I  blame  you 
for  this.  I  have  left  her  alone  in  camp  time 
and  time  again  for  the  same  purpose.  Your 
plans  are  excellent." 

Before  he  realized  it,  he  was  reeling  with 
agony  and  Len  was  half  carrying  him  to  his  bed 
in  the  tent. 

"It'll  be  light  in  a  couple  of  hours,"  said  Len 
presently,  "and  if  you'll  just  trust  me,  sir,  I  think 
I  ought  to  go  alone.  You  can't  travel  with  your 
foot  in  such  a  fix.  Of  course  it's  as  you  say,  but 
if  I  could  just  have  Rajah!  I've  done  lots  of 
trailin',  you  know."  His  voice  seemed  to  come 
from  a  great  distance. 

234  


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"It  isn't  that  I  don't  trust  you,  Len.  Toward 
daybreak  I  will  make  another  trial.  It  will  be 
better  then.  Just  wet  that  towel  again.  My 
poor  baby!    My  poor  little  Naya!" 

According  with  his  wishes,  they  arranged  his 
bed  in  the  open,  for,  although  it  was  intensely 
cold,  the  night  had  become  as  clear  as  crystal. 
His  preparations  finished,  Len  lay  rolled  in  a 
blanket  watching  the  east.  Occasionally  he 
gave  Arthur  some  whispered  directions. 

"Take  Firefly  and  get  the  horses  back  to-mor- 
row, and  tell  Dougal  to  make  for  Antelope 
Springs  with  Comet  and  Pehta.  Better  jam  for 
the  ranch  right  off  and  get  the  doctor  from  over 
town  to  fix  up  his  ankle.  He  can't  possibly  go 
with  me.    I'm  afraid  it's  busted  some  way." 

With  the  appearance  of  the  first  thin  veil  of 
gray,  William  rose  bravely,  telling  Len  to  sad- 
dle both  horses,  but  when  he  tried  to  pull  on  his 
boot,  he  was  seized  with  such  a  paroxysm  of 
pain  that  he  sank  back  resistless. 

"Go,  Len.  I  would  only  be  a  hindrance. 
Don't  shoot  unless  it  is  necessary.  I  trust  your 
judgment.  I  want  to  keep  this  thing  out  of  the 
papers,  and  nothing  travels  to  the  press  like  lead 

235 


NAYA 

bullets.  Newspaper  notoriety  1  Heaven  help 
the  child  I.  Just  be  a  bit  wary.  We'll  give  them 
a  little  of  their  own  medicine.  Once  safe  at  the 
ranch,  we'll  just  keep  this  thing  hushed  up,  and 
ril  get  her  out  of  the  country.  I  trust  you,  my 
boy.  Be  careful  of  yourself.  The  Blackfeet  are 
devils  when  their  blood  is  up." 

Len  soon  found  their  trail  in  the  fern  brake 
and,  mounted  on  Rajah,  he  too  headed  north- 
ward. 


2.'?6 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from  fears. 

Scott — The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Meanwhile  the  Indians  were  picking  their 
way  through  forest  and  canon  with  the  unerring 
instinct  of  all  children  of  the  wilds.  Their  stout 
little  ponies  never  faltered,  but  scrambled  and 
slid  down  the  dark,  slippery  hillsides  as  if  they 
realized  the  important  part  they  played  in  the 
conspiracy,  and  were  determined  that  it  should 
not  fall  through  for  lack  of  courage  and  endur- 
ance on  their  side. 

Naya's  submission  was  but  skin  deep,  and 
when  she  saw  there  were  only  two  horses,  she 
made  a  rapid  plan  to  escape.  White  Buffalo  had 
placed  her  back  of  his  saddle,  realizing  that  the 
pony  would  travel  better  if  the  greater  weight 
were  forward,  and,  as  they  rounded  the  western 
portion  of  the  lake,  just  under  the  cliffs  which 
a  few  moments  later  caught  William's  cry,  she 
saw  her  opportunity  and  seized  it.    There  was  a 

237 


NAYA 

black  strip  of  underbrush,  and  just  beyond,  the 
rushes  and  lily  pads  that  bordered  the  lake.  It 
was  hardly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  to  the  camp 
fire  and,  although  the  water  was  freezing,  she 
was  determined  to  try  it.  Iron  Horn  was  a  little 
in  advance.  Without  a  sound  she  slipped  over 
the  pony's  tail  to  the  ground  and  was  wriggling 
into  the  sheltering  brush;  but  the  pony  jumped, 
and,  without  saying  a  word.  White  Buffalo  lifted 
her  up  again,  this  time  in  front  of  him,  and  they 
proceeded  as  silently  as  before. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  and  she  never  spoke. 
Once  a  gleam  of  natural  kindness,  the  kindness 
that  characterized  his  race  before  the  advent  of 
the  white  man,  seemed  to  touch  the  Indian's  re- 
vengeful heart,  and  asking  if  she  were  hungry, 
he  offered  her  a  piece  of  bread.  She  struck  it 
from  his  hand.  He  gave  a  short,  angry  laugh, 
but  in  the  depths  of  his  Indian  nature  there  was. 
admiration  for  her  spirit  and  her  cunning.  He 
himself  could  not  have  planned  a  better  escape. 
If  the  pony  had  not  jumped,  she  would  have 
been  in  the  lake  before  he  noticed  she  was  gone. 
Her  mother  was  a  remarkable  swimmer;  she  out- 
stripped both  her  brothers  in  swiftness,  if  not  in 

238 


White  BufjaL)  lijtcd  her  up  again,  this  tinu'  ui  front  of  hi: 


tm. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

endurance,  and  probably  this  child  was  like  her. 
If  they  could  only  awaken  the  race  loyalty  that 
is  an  Indian's  birthright,  then  they  could  snap 
their  fingers  at  the  fork-tongued  white  man,  her 
father;  but  she  was  a  wild  cat  and  it  would  take 
time  to  tame  her.  When  she  was  a  papoose,  she 
loved  the  old  grandmother.    They  would  see. 

Occasionally  he  and  Iron  Horn  exchanged  a 
brief  remark.  Naya  gathered  that  fresh  horses 
were  not  far.  She  looked  up  at  the  black  tree 
tops  waving  against  the  dark  silver-blue  sky,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  the  stars  were  huddled  to- 
gether in  anxious  consultation,  and  that  the  pale 
shafts  of  moonlight,  wandering  like  wraiths  in 
the  forest,  were  constantly  beckoning  and  call- 
ing, "Escape!  Escape!"  But  the  arm  that  held 
her  was  like  the  iron  clamp  of  a  prison.  For 
one  surging  instant  she  was  tempted  to  lean  and 
bite  it;  then,  like  a  majestic  presence,  the  dig- 
nity inherited  from  two  mighty  races  asserted  it- 
self and  the  wild  impulse  fled  before  its  calm- 
ing gaze.  "I  must  do  nothing  unworthy  of 
father,"  she  thought.  He  and  Len  would  hunt 
for  her,  of  course,  but  when  daylight  came  the 
Indians  would  begin  covering  the  trail.   What 

239 


NAYA 

if  they  never  found  her  at  all?  She  struggled 
with  a  sob.  At  least  she  would  not  give  him  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  her  cry. 

They  halted  abruptly  and,  in  the  clear  light, 
Naya  saw  a  young  Indian  standing  on  a  stone  in 
a  wide  creek  and  holding  three  horses  that 
champed  restlessly  in  the  cold  water.  Could  it 
be?  He  spoke  now,  and  she  distinctly  recog- 
nized the  soft,  gay  voice  of  Rushing  Wind,  the 
Crow  guide.  It  was  he  who  had  put  the  Black- 
feet  on  their  trail.  This  is  what  he  had  meant 
that  morning  on  Big  Piney  when  he  said  they 
would  meet  soon  again.  She  remembered  now 
his  sly  laugh.  Naya's  anger  shook  her  with  sud- 
den fury,  but  she  stood  by,  silent  and  motionless 
as  they  rapidly  changed  the  saddles. 

"I  hope  the  little  daughter  of  Eagle  Ribs  be 
not  angry,"  he  said  teasingly. 

She  did  not  answer.  White  Buffalo  said  a 
few  sharp  words  to  him,  and  he  ceased  molest- 
ing her. 

Her  heart  fell  when  she  heard  their  plans.  It 
seems  that  Rushing  Wind  had  led  the  horses  in 
the  stream  for  a  mile  or  more,  and  that  they  were 
to  return  in  the  same  way,  while  he,  after  a  brief 

240 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

rest,  was  to  continue  in  another  direction  with 
the  horses  they  had  been  riding,  leading  one 
at  a  sufficient  length  to  give  the  impression  of 
two  riders.  Every  now  and  then  he  was  to  make 
a  show  at  concealing  his  trail — too  frank  a  trail 
would  make  the  white  man  suspicious.  After 
misleading  them  for  one  moon,  he  was  to  double 
back,  following  barren  rocks  and  streams,  con- 
cealing every  hoof  print  and  every  sign,  and, 
upon  striking  their  trail,  was  to  follow  it  to  a 
certain  pocket  in  the  Rosebud  Mountains,  where 
the  Crow  brother  would  receive  a  liberal  re- 
ward. 

Naya  retained  but  a  confused  recollection  of 
the  days  and  night  that  followed.  She  meant 
neither  to  sleep  nor  to  eat  until  she  was  safe  in 
her  father's  arms,  and  consequently,  at  the  end 
of  the  first  day,  she  was  so  faint  and  dazed  that 
she  fell  from  her  pony.  She  remembered  noth- 
ing except  that  White  Buffalo  had  picked  her 
up,  and  when  she  awakened,  it  was  broad  day- 
light and  they  were  traveling  in  a  country  that 
was  entirely  strange  to  her.  She  was  carefully 
wrapped  in  a  striped  blanket  and  her  head  was 
pillowed  against  the  Indian's  shoulder.     Evi- 

241 


NAYA 

dently  it  had  been  storming,  for  the  red  bluffs 
and  stunted  pines  were  delicately  sprinkled  with 
new  snow.  White  Buffalo  saw  she  was  awake. 

"The  white  woman  has  a  strange  custom/'  he 
began  with  that  faint  strain  of  kindness  in  his 
guttural  voice.  "At  the  time  of  marriage  she 
covers  herself  with  a  veil  as  of  snow.  Look,  lit- 
tle daughter  of  the  Ziarzapas,^  it  is  a  sign  for 
thee.  The  Great  Spirit  has  covered  the  earth 
with  a  bridal  veil.  We  would  thou  wouldst 
marry  and  live  forever  in  the  wigwam  of  thy 
people.  Ma-que-a-pos^  is  a  brave  and  noble  war- 
rior. The  life  of  the  napiquan  is  not  for  thee.  I 
know  thee  well.  Thy  mother,  the  pure  and 
lovely  Crystal  Stone,  was  my  sister.  She  was  a 
child  of  the  laughing  streams  and  of  the  fiery 
sunsets.  Thou  are  like  her,  little  daughter  of 
Cristecoom." 

There  was  a  voice  in  Naya's  ear  like  the  faint 
wild  echo  of  another  existence.  The  sound  came 
nearer — mounted — mounted,  until  she  held  her 
breath  and  bent  her  head  while  the  winds  of  in- 
heritance swept  about  her.  Oh,  the  sound  of 
rushing  waters,  the  rain-beaten  leaves  blowing 

1  Blackfeet 

2  The  Wolfs  Word. 

242 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

in  her  face,  the  long  wild  sweep  of  the  storm 
down  the  mountain  side,  and  everywhere  free- 
dom— freedom — freedom  I 

She  waited  a  long  time  before  answering.  All 
anger  between  them  seemed  to  have  departed, 
for  finally  she  said  as  kindly  as  he,  "Thou  art 
right.  I  am  of  thy  race,  and  I  love  the  life  of 
the  Indian ;  but  I  cannot  leave  my  father.  He 
is  sad  since,  in  the  Moon  of  Flowers,  the  pure 
and  lovely  Crystal  Stone  was  taken  from  him. 
I  shall  return  to  him." 

She  was  sitting  up  now  and  gazing  somberly 
into  the  dark  visage  of  her  captor.  A  deeper 
gloom  settled  over  the  face  of  the  chief,  but 
the  expression  of  fierce  tyranny  in  the  restless 
black  eyes  had  changed  to  one  of  brooding  pa- 
tience and  determination.  He  made  no  response; 
and  it  was  their  only  conversation  during  the 
days  of  flight. 

Soon  after  nightfall  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
Indian  encampment.  Naya  could  see  the  out- 
line of  a  half  dozen  wigwams,  and  many  dark 
figures  passed  and  repassed  in  the  circle  of  fire- 
light. Her  heart  gave  a  leap,  half  of  delight, 
half  of  fear.    "I  am  two  people,"  she  cried  to 

243 


NAYA 

herself;  then  as  if  foreseeing  the  life  of  unrest 
and  struggle  that  lay  before  her,  she  began  pray- 
ing passionately,  imperiously,  "Cristecoom, 
Cristecoom,  make  me  just  one — just  one — like 
father — ^just  one!"  Her  father's  gray  eyes 
seemed  to  gaze  at  her  through  the  dusk.  There 
were  tears  in  them,  and  there  in  the  beautiful 
room  by  the  singing  waterfall  was  the  little  white 
bed,  all  smooth  and  untouched.  Perhaps  Pig- 
eon had  scaled  the  fence  and  was  out  there  rub- 
bing her  nose  against  the  pane.  Perhaps  they 
were  all  at  the  ranch  by  this  time;  perhaps  they 
would  not  hunt  for  her  after  all.  She  bent  over 
the  saddle  horn  with  a  little  moan  of  homesick- 
ness. Suddenly  the  ponies  stopped,  and  a  trem- 
bling old  voice  pierced  the  tumult  around  her. 

"My  baby  Crystal  Stone.  She  is  dead.  Many 
moons  is  she  dead.  My  heart  was  barren.  It 
was  as  the  Moon  of  Snows,  but  now  it  is  as  the 
Moon  of  Leaves.  Little  Stars-on-the-River, 
come  to  thy  grandmother." 

It  was  old  Sweet  Grass,  the  Indian  grand- 
mother. The  curious  throng  reverently  made 
way  for  her,  and  when  Naya's  searching  eyes 
caught  sight  of  the  old  cinnamon  bark  face  and 

244 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

the  tear-drenched  smile  that  spoke  of  her  mother, 
she  slipped  from  the  pony  and,  burying  her  face 
on  her  grandmother's  breast,  burst  into  uncon- 
trollable tears.  White  Buffalo  laid  a  peremp- 
tory hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"The  others  watch.  It  is  not  well  for  a  Black- 
foot  maiden  to  show  her  feelings." 

It  was  a  voice  of  command.  Instantly  she 
was  silent,  but  her  eyes  burned  with  defiance  as 
he  led  her  into  the  lodge. 

The  old  squaw,  evidently  accustomed  to  re- 
pression, crooned  and  mumbled  happily  as  she 
bent  over  a  pot  of  meat  simmering  on  the  fire. 
The  cheerful  blaze  brightened  the  scarlet  cali- 
co of  her  dress  and  caught  the  long  white  shell 
earrings  that  dangled  about  her  breast  as  she 
moved.  The  broad  sweet  face,  with  its  fold  on 
fold  of  crumpled  brown  skin,  was  mellowed  in 
a  smile  of  infinite  content  and  gladness. 

But  Naya's  heart  was  raging.  If,  on  the  one 
side,  her  Indian  ancestors  called  and  beckoned 
from  the  wilderness,  on  the  other  were  the  dim 
shadows  of  proud  and  stately  Englishwomen 
who,  with  haughty  grace,  pointed  to  her  place 
in  their  ranks.    Their  passing  was  like  that  of 

245 


NAYA 

queens,  and  in  their  pathway  were  strewn  the 
fairest  flowers  of  homage  and  courtesy.  Think 
of  his  presuming  to  order  her  about  as  if  she 
were — ^yes,  a  squaw  I 

A  baby's  cry  came  from  another  part  of  the 
lodge,  and  her  face  melted.  The  wreaths  of 
smoke,  idly  curling  toward  the  aperture  above, 
so  screened  the  rear  of  the  wigwam  that  she 
could  not  see  just  whence  the  sound  came.  She 
ran  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  and  there,  in  his 
prison  of  buckskin  and  beads,  was  a  mite  of  a 
brown  baby  emitting  a  sassaskivi^  fit  to  thrill 
the  scalp  locks  of  a  hundred  warriors. 

''Pah  kapsf  Pah  kaps!  Essummissar  ^  said 
Naya,  laughing  and  patting  the  tiny  tear  wet 
cheek  with  one  hand,  while  in  the  other  she 
whirled  her  bead  necklace.  A  young  squaw 
rushed  out  of  the  shadows  and  seized  the  baby 
by  the  nose.  He  strangled  and  struggled  for  an 
instant  in  an  endeavor  to  bewail  this  fresh  on- 
slaught of  misery,  then  relaxed  like  a  submis- 
sive rag  doll.  When  the  mother  let  go  the  little 
bump  meant  for  his  nose,  he  gave  a  gasp  of  as- 


1  War  whoop. 

2 "Bad!  Bad!  Look  there.' 


246 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

tonishment  and  then  laughed  outright,  as  if  he 
felt  the  joke  was  on  him.  White  Buffalo  stood 
by  watching,  amusement  and  fatherly  pride 
lighting  his  gloomy  eyes. 

"My  wife  and  my  son,  hereditary  chief  of 
the  tribe,"  he  said  to  Naya  proudly.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  he  adored  his  family. 

''How  ne  tucka,*'  ^  said  the  comely  young 
squaw  pleasantly,  and  she  turned  away  to  help 
Sweet  Grass  with  the  supper. 

When  it  was  ready,  Naya  seated  herself  close 
to  the  old  grandmother,  her  unhappy  eyes  never 
leaving  the  fire,  except  to  smile  faintly  on  some 
crooning  caress.  Had  it  not  been  for  an  aching 
something,  how  she  could  have  thrown  herself 
into  this  sweet  simple  family  life  of  the  Indian. 
White  Buffalo  had  unlaced  the  deerskin  thongs 
that  imprisoned  his  bright-eyed  offspring  and, 
laughing  at  the  indignant  protestations  of  the 
mother,  was  feeding  him  with  bits  of  meat. 
Overhead  the  stars  clustered  about  the  aperture 
as  if  to  crown  this  humble  home  of  nature's  own 
children.  Sweet  Grass  was  greatly  disturbed 
because  the  little  stranger  would  eat  nothing 

i"How  art  thou?" 

17  247 


NAYA 

and,  like  grandmothers  the  world  over,  sudden- 
ly bethought  herself  of  something  which  might 
tempt  the  lagging  appetite.  She  disappeared 
for  a  moment  and  returned  with  a  basket  of  fra- 
grant wild  strawberries.  They  lay  on  a  bed  of 
delicate  green  leaves,  so  arranged  that  the  bas- 
ket's edge  was  wreathed  with  blossoms.  Quick 
tears  sprang  to  Naya's  eyes. 

"Beautiful  mother  would  have  made  it  so," 
she  said  and  kissed  old  Sweet  Grass'  withered 
cheek.    But  she  ate  only  a  few. 

''Cho  hetta  ke  tesisticoT  ^  asked  the  chief 
kindly. 

"Sah,"  ^  she  said  shortly,  her  eyes  on  the  fire. 

''Ah!  Ahr^  quavered  Sweet  Grass.  "My 
baby  is  tired.  To-morrow  will  she  eat  of  the 
ponokah  and  the  kekstakee.  She  will  help  me 
dry  the  mummea,  ^  We  will  talk  of  the  beautiful 
Crystal  Stone  and  be  happy.  Pohks  a  potef 
Nayatohta." 

The  grandmother  would  have  led  her  to  her 


1 "  Art  thou  tired  ?  " 

2«No!" 

8  "Yes!  Yes!" 

*Fish. 

B  "  Come  here." 

248 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

own  little  wigwam  close  to  that  of  the  chief,  but 
White  Buffalo  interposed  abruptly. 

''Sah!    She  must  sleep  here." 

The  old  mother  obediently  arranged  the  bed 
as  she  was  commanded,  while  Naya  stood  in  the 
entrance  of  the  lodge  looking  out  on  the  village. 
Near  by  an  Indian  boy,  who  had  sprinkled 
water  on  his  tom-tom,  grown  flabby  with  use,  was 
holding  it  to  a  great  central  fire  to  dry  and  shrink. 
In  its  light  a  half  dozen  young  bucks  were 
gambling  on  a  blanket.  The  one  who  held  the 
bone  was  waving  his  arms  with  bewildering 
rapidity  and  his  side  laughed  uproariously  at 
the  mystified  expression  of  their  opponents. 
Naya's  eyes  lit  with  momentary  interest.  She 
loved  the  game.  She  herself  could  not  tell 
which  hand  the  bone  was  in.  Was  it  the  right? 
No — the  left.  The  opponent  had  guessed  right 
and  gained  a  point  for  his  side.  They  were 
playing  for  beaver  skins  she  thought,  for  she 
could  see  a  pile  of  something  on  the  far  end  of 
the  blanket. 

Then  the  dreadful  homesickness  came  back 
with  a  rush.  If  she  could  only  sleep  in  the  lit- 
tle tepee  there  with  Grandmother  Sweet  Grass, 

249 


NAYA 

she  could  perhaps  slip  away  in  the  night,  but 
the  chief  was  too  wary  to  give  her  such  a  chance. 
Sweet  Grass  called  her  and  helped  her  undress. 
The  loving  old  fingers  fumbled  awkwardly  with 
the  strange  fastenings,  but  Naya  was  patient, 
knowing  how  much  pleasure  it  gave  the  adoring 
soul.  She  shrank  a  little  from  the  blanket  and 
skins  that  covered  her.  "I  an  Indian!"  she 
thought  scornfully,  "I  who  have  more  fear  of  the 
dirt  than  of  the  so  fierce  lion.  Even  the  so  clean 
English  father  laughs  to — at  me  sometimes." 
She  was  already  drifting  on  a  current  of  heavy, 
tired  sleep  when  the  sound  of  plaintive  music 
made  her  stir  and  start  up. 

"What  is  it,  Grandmother  Sweet  Grass?"  she 
whispered  to  the  old  squaw,  who  was  lying  close 
beside  her. 

There  it  was  again  I  Faint  mournful  strains 
that  wandered  on  the  night  breeze  like  the 
thoughts  of  the  dying. 

"Only  the  music  of  the  willow  stem,  little 
strawberry  blossom,"  said  Sweet  Grass  sooth- 
ingly. "The  Boy  of  the  Willow  Music  struck 
his  father  and  must  fast  on  the  hill  for 
three  days.    Sleep,  little  flower  of  Cristecoom." 

250 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

In  the  morning  Naya  was  so  pale  and  weak 
that  the  grandmother  was  frightened. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  the  chief.  "She  is  tired 
and  mourns  for  her  white  father.  We  must 
have  patience.  I  will  bring  the  brave  and  noble 
warrior  Ma-que-a-pos,  who  would  wed  her. 
She  will  have  children  and  be  one  of  us  and 
forget  the  fork-tongued  white  man  and  his 
ways." 

"Not  yet!  Not  yet!"  pleaded  gentle  Sweet 
Grass,  her  old  face  working  with  emotion. 

"Yes,"  said  White  Buffalo  sternly,  "we  are 
dying.  I  must  uphold  the  life  and  strength  of 
my  nation.    It  is  enough." 

The  old  squaw  turned  humbly  to  her  tasks, 
but  the  tears  gathered  in  the  creases  of  her 
wrinkled  face. 

Naya  sat  listless  on  the  bank  of  the  stream.  It 
was  no  use  trying  to  make  her  escape;  she  was 
too  well  watched  for  that,  and  should  she  slip 
away,  where  was  she,  and  which  way  should  she 
go?  No,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait. 
Presently  her  reverie  was  interrupted  by  Sweet 
Grass,  who  bore  a  brimming  gourd  in  her  hands. 

251 


NAYA 

"Grandmother  Sweet  Grass,"  said  Naya 
aghast,  yet  half  laughing,  "not  all  of  that  I" 

''Ah!  Ah!  My  little  mourning  dove  must 
drink,  then  she  will  be  strong  like  the  young 
doe." 

It  was  a  fearful  beverage,  concocted  of  bitter 
herbs  and  the  bark  of  the  wild  cherry,  but  the 
child  gulped  heroically  in  spite  of  smarting  eyes 
and  puckering  mouth.  Then  for  an  instant  her 
natural  fun  welled  within  her. 

"Thou  hast  killed  me,"  she  laughed,  making 
a  grotesque  face.  "I  love  Grandmother  Sweet 
Grass  too  much  to  leave  her  behind.  We  will 
go  to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds  together." 

She  seized  the  astonished  old  squaw  with  one 
hand  and  with  the  other  tried  to  administer 
the  dregs  of  her  own  medicine.  The  morning 
rippled  with  the  child's  laughter,  and  the  quiet 
faces  of  a  few  scattered  Indians  relaxed  in  in- 
voluntary smiles.  Notwithstanding  her  seventy- 
odd  years,  Sweet  Grass  broke  away  and  made 
for  the  wigwam  with  the  gayety,  if  not  the  grace, 
of  a  maiden  of  seventeen.  Her  mild  old  face 
beamed  with  fun,  and  now  and  then  little  cackles 
of  delight  broke  from  her  as  she  ran.    Surely  it 

252 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

was  the  laughter  and  light  footstep  of  her  baby 
Crystal  Stone  there  behind  her. 

She  stopped  in  sudden  consternation,  for  the 
chief  stood  in  the  entrance  to  the  wigwam,  and 
there  beside  him  was  The  Wolf's  Word,  with  a 
deer  thrown  over  his  shoulder  and  presents  of 
blankets  and  bead  work  hanging  on  one  arm. 
He  solemnly  approached  Naya  and  laid  them 
on  the  grass  at  her  feet.  She  knew  what  it  meant, 
and  the  laughter  died  from  her  eyes.  She  paused 
in  agitation,  swept  by  an  entirely  new  fear.  The 
chief's  former  allusion  to  her  marriage  had 
seemed  to  do  with  a  vague  and  dreamlike  future, 
and  she  had  thought  no  more  about  it.  She 
looked  from  one  to  another  in  helpless  dismay, 
then  she  became  finely  mistress  of  herself.  Her 
direct  pure  gaze  sought  the  eyes  of  the  waiting 
brave. 

"We  are  the  children  of  Cristecoom,  and  we 
must  live  as  he  wishes,  is  it  not  so,  my  brother? 
He  wishes  that  I  cling  always  to  my  English 
father,  for  his  heart  is  full  of  sorrow.  The  sun 
of  the  lovely  Crystal  Stone  sleeps  behind  the 
western  hills,  and  he  is  alone.  As  soon  as  I  can, 
I  go  to  him.    I  love  you  all,  I  am  proud  that 

253 


NAYA 

you  are  my  people;  but  I  cannot  live  among 
you." 

White  Buffalo  gave  a  significant  grunt  He 
would  see,  he  thought  to  himself. 

As  if  divining  his  thoughts,  she  continued 
simply,  "Cristecoom  gave  me  life.  If  I  am  forced 
to — to  live  here,  I  shall  return  it  to  him.  I  have 
said  all."  And  she  walked  proudly  into  the  wig- 
wam. 

"Patience!"  said  White  Buffalo  doggedly. 

"Patience!"  echoed  the  melancholy  brave,  his 
eyes  following  her  wistfully. 

''Sah!  Sahr  wailed  Sweet  Grass,  "mahto 
mahxim,"  * 

Toward  evening  Naya  and  her  grandmother 
gathered  strawberries  on  the  hills  surrounding 
the  village.  The  child's  face  was  white  and  sad, 
but  it  brightened  as  Sweet  Grass  said,  "I  trust 
thee,  little  fawn.  Thou  wilt  not  tell  thy  uncle. 
The  sah  komapee  ^  in  yonder  wood  makes  fast 
and  I  bring  him  food.  My  foolish  old  heart  will 
not  bear  that  the  young  go  hungry.    Iron  Horn 

1 "  She  is  young." 
2  Boy. 

254 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

watched  on  the  hill,  but  he  has  gone  for  his 
ponokah  meta,  ^  Stay  not,  for  he  returns." 

Naya  was  filled  with  sudden  excitement  and 
hope  and,  taking  the  basket,  slipped  swiftly  into 
the  wood.  The  rebellious  young  Blackfoot  did 
not  see  her  at  first.  He  sat  on  a  fallen  log,  his 
magic  pipe  to  his  lips,  whence  came  the  plain- 
tive strains  that  had  so  touched  her  the  night  be- 
fore. His  dress  consisted  only  of  breech  clout 
and  moccasins,  and  his  lithe  young  shoulders 
shone  like  bronze  in  the  slanting  rays  of  the  de- 
parting sun.  He  made  a  charming  picture,  sit- 
ting among  the  patches  of  brilliant  green  lichen 
which  mottled  the  gray  and  spike-like  branches 
of  the  fallen  tree. 

"Brother,  here  is  meat  of  the  ouacasee.  Sweet 
Grass  sends  it.  I  am  Naya,  thy  unhappy  sis- 
ter. My  father  it  was  who  married  Crystal 
Stone,  and  they  have  stolen  me  from  him.  If 
thou  seest  a  white  man,  give  him  this  and  say 
I  will  be  here  again  to-morrow  night  and  that 
we  will  run — run." 

She  was  breathless  and  half  crying  with  ex- 
citement.    The  Indian  boy  had  never  seen  her 

1  Horse. 

255 


NAYA 

before  and,  as  the  decree  had  been  solitude  and 
starvation  for  three  days,  he  was  filled  with 
blankest  astonishment.  Without  waiting  for 
him  to  speak,  Naya  thrust  the  food  and  hand- 
kerchief into  his  hands  and  departed  as  swiftly 
as  she  had  come. 

It  was  a  bare  hope,  but  she  took  heart.  The 
following  day  she  seemed  so  happy  and  so  much 
at  home  that  the  Indians  were  encouraged,  and 
the  wistful  eyes  of  The  Wolf's  Word,  watching 
from  afar,  lost  their  hopelessness.  Patience!  It 
is  the  watchword  of  the  Indian.  Had  they  but 
known,  it  was  only  a  ruse  to  relax  their  suspi- 
cious custody.  Consequently,  at  sundown  she 
had  no  trouble  in  gaining  the  wood ;  but  she  spent 
the  night  in  restless  tossing.  ''Sahl  Sah!  little 
sister,"  the  boy  had  said. 

The  next  morning  she  heard  White  Buffalo 
giving  his  orders  to  the  village. 

"To-night  when  the  cogue  ahtose  ^  rises,  we 
start  for  O-max-enn.  ^  The  mummea  are  gone, 
the  ponokah  and  kekstakee  are  now  few.  Be 
ready!" 

1  Moon. 

2  A  lake  near  the  British  border. 

256 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Naya  was  in  despair,  but  she  tried  to  appear 
happy,  for  therein  lay  her  only  hope.  However, 
the  watchful  old  squaw  was  not  deceived. 

"For  shame,  little  mourning  dove,"  she  said 
chidingly,  "wouldst  thou  return  to  the  napi- 
quan?  We  are  thy  people,  and  once  from  the 
rising  cristeque  ahtose  ^  to  the  setting  cristeque 
ahtose  was  the  land  ours.  Why  is  it  ours  no 
longer?  The  napiquan,  our  enemy  and  thine, 
has  robbed  us.  I  must  soon  cross  the  Great 
River.  It  will  not  be  long  now.  Stay,  little  Stars- 
on-the-River,  stay  with  thy  old  Grandmother 
Sweet  Grass." 

Naya  clung  to  her.  "Perhaps  I  will  soon 
cross  the  Great  River,"  she  thought.  She  was 
determined  not  to  go  north  with  them.  If  the 
Boy  of  the  Willow  Music  had  seen  no  one,  she 
would  run — run  just  the  same,  not  back  to  Sweet 
Grass,  but  on — on  through  the  woods  and  hills. 
If  they  found  her  and  forced  her — there  was  an 
instant  of  violent,  terrible  anguish,  but  the  brave 
thoughts  never  flinched.  Others  of  her  race  had 
done  it — she  of  the  Lake  of  the  Dying  Face  and 
she  of  the  Falls  of  the  Silver  Tears. 

iSun. 

257 


NAYA 

The  old-fashioned  grandmother  insisted  on 
giving  her  a  steam  bath. 

"Thou  art  whiter  than  the  blossom  of  the  cher- 
ry in  the  Moon  of  Flowers,"  she  said  tenderly. 
"I  would  see  thy  sweet  cheeks  like  the  summer 
dawn." 

She  made  a  tiny  circular  hut  of  bended  wil- 
lows, covered  with  heavy  blankets,  so  that  every 
breath  of  air  would  be  excluded.  Naya  sat 
within  pouring  water  on  the  heated  stones  until 
she  was  almost  parboiled,  but  someway  the 
physical  distress  was  a  welcome  diversion. 
iWhen  she  thought  the  cure  was  complete,  the 
sturdy  old  squaw  wrapped  a  blanket  around  the 
suffocated  child  and,  carrying  her  briskly  to  the 
creek,  threw  her  into  an  ice  cold  pool.  Naya 
laughed,  it  seemed  so  ridiculous,  but  when  it 
was  over  and  she  had  found  fresh  things  in  her 
sack,  she  felt  surprisingly  strong  and  well.  Then 
Sweet  Grass  brought  a  bowl  of  gruel,  made  from 
the  wild  rice. 

"Thou  must  eat,  for  the  journey  is  long." 

''Ah!  Ah!  The  journey  is  long,"  sighed 
Naya.  Then  to  her  grandmother's  delight,  she 
asked  for  trout. 

258 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

'Wo  oks  kum  innuya/'  ^  she  said,  smiling. 

While  she  sat  shaking  her  wet  hair  in  the 
wind,  she  watched  the  sun  as  it  wheeled  toward 
the  west.  Occasionally  she  prayed  wildly,  in- 
coherently that  it  would  not  leave  her  to  an- 
other night  of  loneliness.  She  could  hear  old 
Sweet  Grass  singing  as  she  worked  in  the  willows 
close  by.  It  was  a  song  of  lament  for  the  younger 
son,  long  since  dead. 

"  O  my  son !  farewell, 
Thou  hast  gone  beyond  the  Great  River ; 
Thy  spirit  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  sand  buttes ; 
I  will  not  see  thee  for  a  hundred  winters. 
Thou  wilt  scalp  the  enemy  in  the  green  prairie 
Beyond  the  Great  River 
When  the  warriors  of  the  Blackfeet  meet ; 
When  they  smoke  the  medicine  pipe 
And  dance  the  war  dance 
They  will  ask,  'Where  is  Is-thu-ma-ka, 
Where  is  the  bravest  of  the  Maime  kappi  ?  * 
He  fell  in  the  war  path.    Mai-ram-bo,  Mai-ram-bo." 

Naya's  face  was  sad  as  she  rose. 

"Grandmother,"  she  said,  "there  are  more 
strawberries  by  the  little  wood,  and  the  night 
comes  fast." 


1  'Three  long  ones." 

3Sg 


NAYA 

''Neet  ahkse^^^  ^  said  she  cheerily.  "Put  the 
mummea  in  the  basket.  The  sah  komapee  has 
another  day  to  fast.  He  follows  on  foot  when 
the  cogue  ahtose  rises.  We  are  safe.  Thy  uncle 
lacks  wisdom  sometimes.  He  told  Red  Leaf  to 
watch  on  the  hill  while  the  warriors  hunt  the 
ouacasee,  but  he  too  has  gone.  He  is  a  foolish 
mahtsee,^  When  the  time  comes,  little  Stars, 
we  will  not  marry  thee  to  such  as  he." 

Naya  braided  her  hair  as  they  climbed  the 
hill,  and  old  Sweet  Grass  crooned  another  verse 
of  her  song. 

"  Many  scalps  will  be  taken  for  thy  death ; 
The  Crows  will  lose  many  horses; 
Their  women  will  weep  for  their  braves; 
They  will  curse  the  Spirit  of  Is-thu-ma-ka. 
O  my  son !  I  will  come  to  thee 
And  make  moccasins  for  the  war  path 
As  I  did  when  thou  didst  strike  the  lodge 
Of  the  Homeguard  with  the  tomahawk. 
Farewell,  my  son!  I  will  see  thee 
Beyond  the  broad  river. 
Mai-ram-bo,  Mai-ram-bo ! " 

They  were  crossing  a  grassy  dip  close  to  the 
wood  when  Naya  turned  and  put  her  hands  on 
the  old  squaw's  shoulders. 

i"Very  well." 
*A  brave. 

a6o 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Grandmother  Sweet  Grass,"  she  said,  her 
lips  trembling,  "I  love  thee,  but  I  must  go  to 
my  father.  I  must — I  must;  I  die  without  him. 
If  thou  didst  love  the  beautiful  Crystal  Stone, 
if  thou  dost  love  her  unhappy  pohka,^  Stars-on- 
the-River,  thou  wilt  help  me." 

"Cristecoom,  sah!^  Cristecoom,  sahr  wailed 
Sweet  Grass,  "and  I  will  so  soon  cross  the  Great 
River  I" 

"I  cannot  stay — I  cannot.  Oh,  forgive  me, 
dear  Grandmother  Sweet  Grass.  Let  me  go. 
Thou  knowest  the  Lake  of  the  Dying  Face.  I 
shall  be  like  her."  And  Naya  rapidly  related 
what  had  passed  between  her  and  the  prisoner 
in  the  little  wood  and  of  her  determination  to 
escape,  at  all  events. 

"I  could  have  gone  without  telling  thee,"  she 
concluded,  "but  I  wanted  to  speak  my  love  for 
thee  and  my  sorrow  at  leaving  thee." 

A  beautiful  light  passed  into  the  tear-dimmed 
eyes  of  old  Sweet  Grass. 

"The  Great  Spirit  bless  thee,  little  Stars-on- 
the-River.    Thou  must  hasten.    I  will  pray  for 


8  Child. 
*Evil  Spirit. 


261 


NAYA 

thee,  I  will  keep  them  from  the  knowledge  of 
thy  absence  as  long  as  possible.  Farewell,  my 
child.  Mayst  thou  reach  the  wigwam  of  the 
Bear's  Child  in  safety." 

Naya  sobbed  her  gratitude  and  rained  tears 
and  kisses  on  the  sweet  old  face.  In  another  mo- 
ment she  was  in  the  wood. 

The  Boy  of  the  Willow  Music  sat  waitmg  for 
her.  His  melancholy  air  had  vanished  and 
excitement  trembled  in  every  sinew.  Naya 
snatched  a  red  silk  handkerchief  from  his  hand. 

"Lenl"  she  cried. 

''Ah!  Ah!  Napiquan.    He  waits  for  thee." 

Hand  in  hand  they  sped  through  the  silent 
wood. 

Sweet  Grass  was  weeping  for  her  children. 
She  lingered  in  the  strawberry  patch  until  the 
shadows  deepened  in  the  folds  of  the  hills  and 
were  blotting  the  pale  saffron  from  the  skies. 

"Is-thu-ma-ka  —  Eeh-nis-kim  —  Nayatohta, 
they  are  gone  and  I  am  alone."  Softly  lamenting, 
she  crept  up  the  hill  that  sloped  toward  the  vil- 
lage. There  she  hid  among  some  pines  and 
waited.  White  Buffalo  rode  in  from  the  hunt, 
and  Sweet  Grass  raised  her  shrill  old  voice. 

262 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"We  arc  here.  Nayatohta  would  watch  the 
dying  sunset." 

He  looked  up,  and  nodded  in  reply. 

The  old  squaw  rocked  back  and  forth  on  her 
seat  of  dry  pine  needles. 

"My  baby!  In  the  falling  leaf  time  will  I 
come  to  thee.  Not  longer,  Mother  of  God.  Not 
longer,  O  Cristecoom."  So  the  piteous  lamen- 
tations continued,  the  expressions  of  wild  super- 
stition intermingled  with  strange  little  Catholic 
phrases,  probably  gathered  years  before  from 
some  wandering  "Black  Gown." 

Presently  White  Buffalo  came  out  of  the  wig- 
wam. 

"Cornel"  he  called,  "the  cogue  ahtose  rises 
soon.    There  is  much  to  do." 

Sweet  Grass  bravely  controlled  her  weeping. 

"Nayatohta  would  count  the  stars." 

"There  is  no  time.     Return." 

But  Sweet  Grass  only  moaned  softly  to  her- 
self. "He  was  ever  the  least  loving  of  my  ba- 
bies. He  will  kill  me.  It  is  well.  Little  baby 
Crystal  Stone,  thou  art  beyond  the  Great  River; 
thou  art  in  the  arms  of  the  Virgin.   Cristecoom! 

IS 


NAYA 

Cristecoom !  Put  her  little  head  once  more  upon 
my  breast." 

"Why  dost  thou  not  come?  I  say  come  many 
times.  It  grows  late,"  said  White  Buffalo's 
voice  a  few  paces  down  the  hill. 

The  old  Indian  mother's  tender  heart  quailed 
beneath  its  harshness. 

"Nayatohta  gathers  flowers  close  by,"  she  be- 
gan, but  her  voice  broke. 

"It  is  dark,"  he  said.  "One  cannot  see  the 
flowers.    Where  is  she?    Quick!" 

"Gone!"  said  old  Sweet  Grass,  weeping 
bitterly. 

"Gone!  Escaped!  Thou  didst  let  her?"  He 
seized  her  by  the  arm  and  shook  her.  "Did  the 
white  man  come?" 

"I  know  not.  The  Lake  of  the  Dying  Face — 
she  said  it,  she  meant  it — she  is  of  our  race. 
Strike  me.  Kill  me.  I  would  die,  for  I  am 
alone,"  and  she  lay  weeping  at  the  feet  of  her 
son  and  chief. 

Suddenly  the  sassaskivi  rang  through  the  vil- 
lage. 

"Quick!  The  ponokah  meta!  There  will  be 

a64 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

an  otokan  epascat}  I  am  ahecooa  nin  nah} 
The  napiquan  defies  me.  What  do  I  care  for 
their  warriors?  I  would  die  fighting  them.  The 
napiquan  has  come  and  stolen  the  ahkeoquoin? 
They  have  taken  all— all.  The  Blackfeet  will 
be  avenged." 

The  village  was  in  a  turmoil.  There  was  a 
short  council  and  the  warriors  departed,  leav- 
ing the  night  as  silent  as  before. 

The  Boy  of  the  Willow  Music  sat  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  wood,  listening,  his  magic  pipe  sus- 
pended. Was  it  the  moaning  of  the  pines? 
Was  it  the  sigh  of  distant  waters?  No.  He 
understood. 

Sweet  Grass  was  weeping  for  her  children. 


1  Scalp  dance. 

2  A  great  chief. 
«  Maiden. 


^ 


CHAPTER  XIV 

'Tis  much  he  dares, 
And,  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety. 

SuAKSPEKE— Macbeth. 

Naya  laughed  softly,  joyously,  and  beat  her 
little  hand  on  the  saddle  horn. 

"And  then,  Len,  what  did  you?" 

"I  thought  the  camp  was  around  here  some- 
where, so  I  tied  Rajah  down  the  gulch,  and  was 
crawlin'  around  in  the  wood  when  I  heard  that 
funny  wailin'  music.  I  peeked  through  the 
brush,  and  there  he  sat  lookin'  like  a  picture  in 
one  of  Mr.  Dunsmuir's  books — one  of  them 
books  of  Greek  gods  and  goddesses,  and  hang- 
in'  to  a  branch  above  his  head  was  a  little  white 
handkerchief  a  flutterin'  in  the  wind.  I  knowed 
right  away  it  was  yours,  and  I  sort  o'  guessed 
that  maybe  he  was  on  our  side,  so  I  steps  up 
right  quick  and  says,  Triend.'  I  thought  may- 
be he  would  know  that  word,  and  sure  enough, 
Triend,'  answers  he;  but  that's  all  he  knowed, 

a66 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

for  droppin'  his  willow  on  the  moss  soft  like  as 
if  it  was  a  baby  and  might  wake  up,  he  snatched 
down  the  handkerchief  and  begins  a  makin* 
signs  like  as  if  we  were  both  deaf  and  dumb.  He 
pointed  toward  the  sun — it  was  only  two  hours 
ago,  you  know,  and  then  closed  his  eyes  as  if 
goin'  to  sleep;  then  openin'  them  quick  he 
pointed  toward  the  camp  and  patted  the  hand- 
kerchief and  then  the  ground,  so  I  knowed  you'd 
be  there  about  sundown.  The  Indian  kids  don't 
know  the  old  sign  language  much,  I  guess.  The 
white  people  is  changin'  their  customs  pretty 
fast,  but  he  sure  was  a  good  one  at  makin'  up 
one  of  his  own.  Then  he  signs  me  to  follow  and 
hides  me  in  the  far  end  of  that  strip  o'  wood 
where  Rajah  was  and  goes  back  to  that  creepy 
music  makin'.  That  hour  seemed  a  plumb  cen- 
tury. He's  sure  a  rummy  kid.  What's  his 
name?" 

"Boy  of  the  Willow  Music,  Grandmother 
Sweet  Grass  calls  him.  And  then  we  did  run — 
run  and  find  you  and  Rajah,  and  now  we  will 
never,  never  stop  until  we  are  with  father." 

The  eyes  she  turned  toward  him  were  the 
happiest  Len  had  ever  seen.    He  thought  vague- 

267 


NAYA 

ly  of  a  deep,  deep  mountain  pool  he  had  passed 
a  few  days  since,  whose  surface  trembled  with 
rifts  of  sunlight  and  the  reflection  of  wind-tossed 
leaves. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said  a  little  gravely,  "but  Ra- 
jah's awful  tired.  Poor  old  fellow  1"  and  he 
put  a  sympathetic  hand  on  the  gray's  gaunt  side. 
"He's  had  pretty  steady  travelin'  for  most  a 
week  now.  I'm  afraid  your  father  will  think  I 
was  pretty  slow,  but  the  trail  was  so  mixed  up. 
If  he  can  hold  out  another  eight  or  ten  hours, 
we'll  be  at  Antelope  Springs,  and  then  we're  all 
right.  Dougal  is  there  with  horses  and  they 
won't  bother  the  two  of  us." 

They  were  already  several  miles  from  the  In- 
dian village,  and  Rajah  had  settled  into  his  best 
gait,  which  he  could  sustain  for  hours  without 
being  winded.  The  frankness  with  which  they 
skirted  the  brush  and  bits  of  woodland  might 
have  seemed  unwise,  but  Len's  one  thought  was 
to  reach  the  Springs  and  Dougal.  Not  that  he 
had  the  slightest  fear  for  himself,  but  he  meant 
if  possible  to  accomplish  his  mission  without 
the  "lead  bullets"  that  William  had  warned  him 
against. 

268 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Of  course  there  was  some  chance  of  being 
seen  by  one  or  even  several  of  the  hunters,  for 
he  was  taking  the  most  open  route,  and  in  that 
case  they  would  try  to  pick  him  off  at  a  distance, 
probably  would,  for  the  Indians  were  fine  shots, 
and  they  doubtless  had  the  best  Winchesters  they 
could  buy.  Then  he  would  have  failed;  Naya 
would  be  recaptured,  dragged  north  into  the 
wilderness,  perhaps  sicken  and  die  of  the  hard- 
ships the  fleeing  Indians  would  subject  her  to, 
and  he  would  lie  here  defeated,  dishonored,  a 
prey  to  the  vultures!  It  was  the  fleeting  image 
of  an  overtired  mind  and  imagination.  He  had 
spoken  briefly  to  Naya  of  the  mixed  up  trail,  of 
Rajah's  splendid  endurance,  of  his  anxiety  for 
her,  but  nothing  of  his  own  hardships. 

The  look  of  happiness  and  triumph,  which  had 
temporarily  extinguished  the  lines  of  fatigue, 
departed,  leaving  his  face  drawn  and  anxious. 
It  was  not  over  by  any  means.  Perhaps  he 
ought  to  travel  in  the  brush  after  all,  but  Rajah 
began  to  show  alarming  signs  of  giving  out.  His 
gait  slackened  and  seemed  strained.  No,  he 
must  save  his  strength  and  further  the  rapidity 
of  their  flight  by  keeping  to  the  open.    The  bet- 

269 


NAYA 

ter  hunting  was  north,  he  thought;  perhaps  the 
Indians  had  gone  in  that  direction. 

"How  most  glad  father  will  bel'*  said  Naya, 
breaking  her  happy  reverie. 

Then  she  caugh.t  sight  of  his  haggard  eyes. 
They  had  lost  their  soft  topaz  glow  and  were 
scanning  the  bluffs  with  a  strange  and  hawk- 
like keenness.  Like  a  flash  she  realized  his  deep 
sense  of  responsibility,  and  saw  the  days  of  toil 
and  dread  which  he  had  undergone  for  her  sake. 
Something  deep  and  untouched  stirred  within 
her. 

"Dear  Lennie,"  she  said  softly,  "so  brave — 
so  tired.  I  give  you  such  great,  great  trouble — a 
so  terrible  journey.  Father  always  kisses  me  to 
forgive  my  badness,"  and  she  lifted  her  face  to 
him,  all  alight  with  one  of  her  warm-hearted 
smiles. 

The  strained  look  died  from  Len's  eyes.  He 
trembled,  and  for  one  ineffable  moment  his  lips 
touched  her  cheek.    Then  he  dismounted. 

"I'll  just  run  for  awhile,"  he  said,  flashing  a 
brief  look  at  her.    "Rajah's  gettin'  tired." 

Despite  his  fatigue  he  set  off  at  a  rapid,  steady 
pace.    The  day  before  a  stretch  of  clearly  de- 

270 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

fined  trail  had  given  such  unmistakable  evi- 
dence of  the  Indians'  intended  destination,  that 
he  had  not  paused  at  nightfall,  but  pushed  on 
through  the  darkness,  feeling  certain  he  could 
recover  it  at  daylight.  He  had  not  slept  for  al- 
most forty-eight  hours  and,  in  order  to  save  the 
horse,  many  of  these  had  been  spent  on  foot.  But 
as  he  ran,  his  thoughts  had  nothing  to  do  with 
sleepless  nights  and  lost  trails  and  days  of  des- 
perate anxiety. 

There  was  a  quiet  paling  of  the  lustrous 
tinted  sunset,  and  the  comforting  twilight  came 
stealing  over  the  hills.  "Never,  never  again!" 
he  said  to  himself  passionately,  "not  even  her 
cheek — until — "  Yes,  until.  Why  should  he 
struggle  against  it  any  longer?  Why  should  he 
deny  it?  Impossible!  He  suddenly  saw  his 
love  as  a  gift  from  that  mystic  Being,  in  whose 
presence  all  the  cant  of  religions  and  sects 
shrivels  like  corn  husks,  a  gift  to  her,  a  beauti- 
ful something  which  had  risen  in  his  soul  like 
the  morning  sun,  and  whose  rays  of  tenderness 
and  strength  and  devotion  were  to  shine  upon 
her  and  glorify  her  life  unto  the  end  of  all 
things.    Why  should  he  deny  her  that  supreme 

271 


NAYA 

blessing?  All  the  arguments  and  qualms  of  con- 
science that  had  characterized  his  former  strug- 
gles disappeared  like  the  mist  before  a  new  and 
resplendent  day.  If  her  father  took  her  to  Eng- 
land? If  she  never  returned?  Well,  he  would 
go  after  her — in  a  few  years.  Perhaps  some 
quiet  evening  like  this — all  soft  dusk  and  pale 
yellow  skies — he  would  be  telling  her — holding 
her —  Len  drew  a  long  breath.  The  thought 
of  her  womanhood  was  like  a  sacrament. 

Rajah  stumbled  and  fell  heavily  to  his  knees. 

"He  most  dead,  poor  Rajah,"  said  Naya,  slip- 
ping to  the  ground,  "I  think  he  go  not  much 
farther." 

After  a  moment  of  labored  effort  the  horse 
regained  his  footing  and  turned  to  look  at  them 
with  patient,  wondering  eyes.  Len's  exultation 
was  quenched  in  this  fresh  anxiety.  He  ran  to  a 
tiny  rill  that  welled  from  the  hillside  nearby 
and  caught  a  hat  full  of  water,  with  which  he 
rapidly  washed  the  poor  beast's  mouth. 

"There's  nothin'  to  do  but  to  hide  in  the  brush 
and  let  'im  rest.  It's  fifteen  miles  yet  to  Ante- 
lope Springs  and — " 

272 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"But  I  will  walk — ^will  run,"  interrupted 
Naya.    "I  am  feeling  most  strong,  really." 

"No,  no!  It's  too  far,  besides,  Rajah's  too 
beat  to  travel  even  without  a  load.  About  a  half 
mile  east  is  a  big  bluff — steep  and  high  except 
where  it  kind  o'  slopes  to  a  strip  of  plain  on 
one  side.  It's  a  regular  trap,  so  they  won't  think 
we're  up  there." 

They  cut  across  the  hills  to  the  left,  Len  lead- 
ing the  tired,  stumbling  horse. 

"Better  hold  to  my  hand,"  he  said.  "These 
hills  is  mighty  rough  in  spots,  and  it's  growin' 
dark." 

Surely  he  could  relax  his  self-restraint  when 
it  meant  her  comfort  and  safety,  he  thought  to 
himself.  For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known 
her,  his  strong  young  hand  closed  over  hers  and 
held  it  fast.  It  was  an  epoch  in  his  wild  and 
lonely  life;  the  shadowy  hills,  the  sudden  burst 
of  stars  overhead,  the  touch  of  the  sweet  little 
hand.  They  could  not  go  fast,  for  Rajah  lagged 
more  and  more.  Every  fear  had  left  her,  and 
she  began  speaking  of  their  arrival  at  the  ranch 
and  of  her  father's  accident. 

273 


NAYA 

"Better  not  to  talk,  perhaps,"  he  said  softly, 
and  they  continued  in  silence. 

The  crest  of  the  bluff  proved  an  admirable 
hiding  place.  It  was  thickly  sprinkled  with 
scrub  pines  and  junipers,  interspersed  with 
patches  of  grass;  but  Rajah  was  too  tired  to  eat. 
When  the  saddle  was  removed,  he  fell  to  the 
ground  and  began  rolling  and  groaning  in  a 
perfect  ecstacy  of  relief.  The  night  had  grown 
rather  sharp,  but  of  course  it  was  out  of  the 
question  to  kindle  a  fire.  Len  wrapped  his 
short  buckskin  coat  about  Naya  and,  feeling  for 
a  level  spot,  spread  the  saddle  blanket  for  her. 

"It's  a  pretty  tough  bed,"  he  said,  "but  the 
pines  is  as  old  as  the  hills  themselves,  so  Mother 
Earth  '11  have  to  be  your  mattress." 

"You  think  I  take  all?"  asked  Naya  indig- 
nantly. 

"I  should  say  not,"  he  answered  promptly. 
"Do  you  think  I'd  allow  such  a  horrible  thing? 
I'm  goin'  to  eat  just  half  of  this  Dutch  oven 
bread.  It's  only  a  week  old,  and  I  adore  crumbs. 
And  here's  venison  in  delicate  little  slices  as  big 
as  this  bluff." 

If  the  Fountain  of  Happiness  had  suddenly 

274 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

gushed  from  the  sandstone  cliff  and  touched 
them  with  its  magic  spray,  their  mood  could  not 
have  changed  more  completely.  They  sat  Turk 
fashion  on  the  saddle  blanket,  the  stale  and 
crumbled  food  between  them,  and  gaily  scanned 
each  other's  faces  in  the  dim  starshine. 

"Why,  grandmother,  what  a  so  big  mouth  you 
have,"  she  said,  as  he  caught  up  a  handful  of 
crumbs  and,  hungry  boy  fashion,  made  way  witK 
them  in  a  jiffy. 

"The  better  to  eat  you  with,"  he  rumbled 
ominously. 

"Oh,  I  did  say  the  Red  Riding-Hood  to  baby 
Carver — Hannah  did  say  it  to  me,  you  know — 
and  I  made  the  growl  so  real  that  he  did  cry, 
and  I  had  to  give  him  three  lumps  of  brown 
sugar  for  a  hush.  What  a  so  lovely  funny  picnic  1 
Oh,  Len,  look  I" 

A  pair  of  shining  eyes  gleamed  in  the  darkness. 

"Just  a  bob  cat,"  he  said,  waving  his  hat  at 
the  beast.  "They  won't  bother  us.  Come  now, 
little  picnicker,  it's  bed  time." 

In  spite  of  her  remonstrance  he  folded  the 
blanket  around  her  and  arranged  the  saddle  for 
a  pillow. 

aTS 


NAYA 

"ril  sleep  a  little  too,  right  here  at  your  feet. 
There's  no  danger.  Rajah's  eatin^  now,  and  in 
a  few  hours  we  must  go  on." 

"The  stars!"  Naya  whispered.  "They  were 
like  that  the  night  I  came  from  the  Great  Spirit. 
Beautiful  mother  did  say  they  laughed  and 
danced  on  the  dark,  dark  river." 

"Of  course  they  did,  they  were  so  glad,"  he 
said  simply,  "for  another  little  star  had  come  to 
laugh  and  dance  with  'em  and  make  people 
happy." 

He  lay  on  his  back,  looking  up  at  the  lovely 
sky. 

"Do  I — make  you  happy?"  she  asked  after  a 
little  pause. 

The  faltering  shy  voice  was  so  unlike  her  that 
his  eyes  turned  in  her  direction,  but  only  the 
faint  outline  of  her  face  was  visible  against  the 
dark  saddle.  He  fought  a  moment  to  gain  self- 
control. 

"Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  his  voice  shaking  a 
little,  "you  make  me  happy,  and,  what's  more, 
you  make  me  want  to  be  good.  It's  a  wonderful 
thing — to  make  other  people  want  to  be  good." 

276 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Thank  you,  Lennie,"  she  said  softly.  "It  is 
the  most  beautiful  thing  one  has  said  to  me." 

Then  they  slept;  but  despite  his  need  of  sleep, 
Len's  restlessness  soon  awakened  him,  and  he 
quietly  rose  to  look  about.  Silence  everywhere! 
There  was  a  flare  of  silver  in  the  east  where  the 
moon  was  slowly  rising.  Even  as  he  stood,  its 
bright  rim  crested  a  nearby  bluff,  catching  its 
wind-bent  pines  in  vivid  and  fantastic  relief. 
Rajah,  who  was  eagerly  cropping  the  grass, 
lifted  his  head  patiently  as  if  to  say,  "Already?" 
However,  it  seemed  that  the  kind  but  energetic 
young  master  only  wanted  to  rub  his  stiff  knees 
and  pat  him  a  little.  "We  must  get  her  out  of 
this,  old  fellow,"  he  whispered.  Then  he  took 
out  his  great  open-faced  watch  and  lighted  a 
match,  carefully  shielding  it  with  his  hand. 
"Ten  past  eleven.    Another  hour." 

Naya  slept  profoundly.  He  knelt  and  with 
a  gentle  hand  pulled  the  blanket  closer  about 
her  shoulders,  and  then  sat  leaning  against  a  tree 
close  by,  his  hands  clasped  about  his  knees.  No, 
he  wouldn't  go  to  sleep  again.  He  felt  sufB- 
ciently  rested  and  wouldn't  risk  oversleeping.    If 

377 


NAYA 

it  wasn^t  for  that  blasted  moon!  One  could  see 
all  over  creation. 

He  gave  a  start.  Had  he  been  dozing?  There 
was  a  southwesterly  breeze — the  direction  of  the 
only  access  to  the  bluff,  and  it  seemed  to  him  he 
heard  voices.  He  had  been  dreaming  probably, 
but  he  arose  to  make  another  survey.  He  had 
gone  but  a  little  way  when  he  stopped,  almost 
paralyzed  with  consternation.  There,  squatting 
around  a  fire  which  they  had  just  kindled,  were 
six  or  eight  Indians.  Len  gazed  at  them  fixedly. 
Had  they  discovered  his  hiding  place,  and  were 
they  coolly  waiting  their  own  time  before  mak- 
ing an  attack,  realizing  that  they  blocked  his 
only  way  of  escape?  Or  was  it  a  chance  camp? 
They  were  several  hundred  yards  distant,  and 
he  could  not  be  sure.  Instinctively  his  hand 
sought  the  revolver  at  his  belt.  If  it  was  a  fight 
they  were  after,  at  least  they  would  not  forget 
him.  Quick!  There  was  surely  some  way  of 
out-tricking  them. 

His  boyish  face  set  quickly  in  an  expression 
of  cool  and  invincible  determination.  He  must 
decide  on  a  plan  before  awakening  Naya.  Try 
to  steal  past  the  camp,  trusting  that  the  dazzle 

278 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

of  the  fire  would  conceal  them?  No!  No  I 
The  moonlit  night  and  their  keen  Indian  senses. 
There  was  surely  some  way  to  get  down  that 
cliff.  They  must.  His  whole  plan  became  sud- 
denly sketched  on  his  brain  as  with  fire.  What 
if  Rajah  discovered  the  presence  of  the  other 
horses  and  whinnied?  Would  the  wind  save 
them?  He  tied  him  to  a  tree  with  the  bridle 
reins  and,  seizing  the  lariat,  ran  to  the  cliff.  He 
peered  over  the  edge,  now  here,  now  there,  and 
finally  chose  what  seemed  to  be  its  shallowest 
point,  and  knotted  one  end  of  the  rope  to  an 
overhanging  tree.  It  didn't  reach!  The  blanket! 

*'Naya,"  he  said,  bending  over  her. 

"Has  the  morning  come?"  she  murmured 
drowsily  and  sat  up,  bewildered  by  her  short 
heavy  sleep  and  the  abrupt  awakening. 

"No,"  he  said,  "but  we  are  goin'  on  to  the 
Springs.  I  want  the  blanket.  Don't  speak  loud." 

He  slipped  it  from  under  her  and  began  tear- 
ing it  in  strips. 

"What  do  you,  Len?"  she  asked  in  astonish- 
ment. 

He  saw  that  she  was  fully  awake. 

"The  Indians  are  near.  We  must  swing  over 
19  279 


NAYA 

the  bluff  and  run.  The  lariat  ain't  long  enough.'- 

She  followed  him  in  silence,  but  she  was  so 
excited  that  he  could  hear  her  short,  intense 
breathing. 

"Len,  I  never  have,"  she  said.  "It  is  so  far 
and  so  black." 

She  was  kneeling  on  the  brink  of  the  cliff, 
peering  far  down  at  the  great  shadowy  boulders 
at  its  base.  Len  had  finished  his  splicing  and  was 
ready. 

"You  must,"  he  said  a  little  sternly.  "Look, 
your  hands  like  this.  I'll  go  first.  Wait  until 
I'm  at  the  bottom.  There  is  no  danger.  I  could 
catch  you." 

He  took  a  firm  hold  and  dropped  over  the 
bluff's  edge  while  she  leaned  and  watched,  her 
heart  beating  painfully. 

"Thou  silly  rabbit  heart,  thou  must,  thou 
must,"  she  said  to  herself  scornfully,  in  Black- 
foot. 

He  was  waving  his  hat  from  the  bottom.  She 
caught  the  rope  as  he  had  shown  her,  and  in 
another  moment  the  earth  slipped  from  under 
her  feet  and  she  was  swaying  in  mid-air  and 
slowly  slipping  downward.     She  felt  as  if  her 

280 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

arms  were  being  torn  from  their  sockets,  but 
shutting  her  eyes,  she  clung  with  all  her  might. 
Then  Len's  hands  were  at  her  waist  and  he  was 
running  down  the  slope  holding  her  fast  in  his 
arms. 

"Dear — brave,"  he  murmured,  "don't  cry. 
We're  all  right.    They  don't  know." 

The  head  of  a  shadowy  draw  was  a  little  way 
beyond,  whence  it  glanced  eastward  like  a  black 
streak  among  the  pale  hills.  When  safe  within 
its  protecting  gloom,  he  set  her  down,  panting, 
for  he  found  her  a  load,  notwithstanding  his 
great  proportions  and  the  iron  muscles  of  twenty- 
one.  Holding  fast  to  each  other's  hands,  they 
ran  down  the  draw  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  then 
around  a  great  butte  and  straight  south  toward 
the  Springs.  The  country  they  traversed  was 
broken  and  barren  save  for  the  straggling  pines 
and  junipers  and  the  fringe  of  brush  that  bor- 
dered the  occasional  stream,  but  in  the  moon's 
splendor  it  became  invested  with  a  wild,  poetic 
fantasy  that  contrasted  vividly  with  its  dreari- 
ness when  seen  by  the  crude  light  of  day.  Gi- 
gantic masses  of  rock,  steeped  in  silvery  light 
and  their  own  somber  shadows,  crowned  the  pal- 


NAYA 

lid  slopes  like  the  ruined  magnificence  of  an 
ancient  city,  long  since  fallen  and  forgotten.  A 
row  of  dead  cottonwoods  stood  stark  and  bare 
by  a  dry  creek  bed,  their  withered  arms  out- 
stretched as  if  inviting  them  to  join  their  spec- 
tral ranks.  The  effect  was  so  realistic  that  Naya 
called  Len's  attention  to  it. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "but  they  needn't  be  beckonin' 
to  us." 

He  had  begun  to  breathe  more  easily,  but, 
poor  child,  what  a  jaunt,  what  a  terrifying  ex- 
perience— the  cliff — the  thought  of  possible 
shooting  were  they  discovered,  the  bloodshed — 
the  recapture!    How  tired  she  must  be! 

"Now  I'm  goin'  to  carry  you  a  spell." 

He  caught  her  up  and  strode  on  rapidly.  She 
was  growing  very  tired  and  made  no  remon- 
strance, but  lay  quiet  with  her  cheek  against 
his  shoulder.  He  restrained  himself  like  a  hero, 
keeping  his  eyes  always  on  the  dry  creek  bed  he 
was  following;  but  the  thoughts  flamed.  Dur- 
ing the  long,  long  separation,  when  the  loneli- 
ness and  longing  were  worst,  he  would  remem- 
ber just  this — the  little  arm  clinging  about  his 
neck — the  locks  of  soft  hair  blowing  in  his  face. 

283 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

He  must  be  careful.  The  strain,  the  sleepless- 
ness of  the  past  week,  something,  had  upset  him. 
He  must  save  and  cherish  all — all  until  that 
beautiful  time  when  there  would  be  no  more 
loneliness,  no  more  separation.  Then  the  proud 
spirit,  so  sure  of  its  own  worth,  its  own  strength, 
bowed  its  head  before  the  remembrance  of 
something  Dougal  had  said  one  day. 

"Humility  is  the  grace."  What  if  she  loved 
some  one  in  England;  what  if  she  saw  in  him 
only  an  ignorant,  common  cow-puncher,  whose 
chief  accomplishment  was  roping  steers  and 
busting  bronchos?  What  if  she  even  laughed 
at  him?  Something  deep  and  sensitive  in  Len's 
heart  cried  out  in  pain,  then  there  was  a  flare  as 
of  sheet  lightning.  No!  Love  such  as  he  had 
to  offer  her  was  more  than  fine  clothes  and  fine 
manners ;  she  would  be  caught  in  its  mighty  cur- 
rent and  swept  on  and  on — 

He  suddenly  became  conscious  that  Naya  was 
looking  at  him  with  intent  eyes. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  looking  down. 

"Please,  Len,  I — I  will  walk,"  she  said  shyly, 
and  he  placed  her  on  the  ground  without  a  word. 

"Only  a  few  more  miles,"  he  said  after  a  long 

^3 


NAYA 

silence.  "We'll  just  rest  a  spell  in  the  shadow  of 
this  butte.  Them  little  moccasins  is  pretty  thin, 
and  your  feet  must  be  tried.  I  have  some  whisky. 
Shall  I  rub  them?" 

He  knew  how  they  must  ache  after  the  miles 
of  brush  and  rock,  and  his  manner  unconsciously 
enveloped  her  in  the  folds  of  a  love  so  infinite 
and  so  gentle  that  she  trembled. 

"No — I  thank  you,"  she  returned,  and  he  said 
no  more  about  it. 

He  sat  a  little  apart  from  her,  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  pushed  back  from  his  brow,  his 
eyes  scanning  the  surrounding  buttes  and  bits 
of  plain.  Naya's  hand  plucked  restlessly  at  a 
little  sagebrush.    Finally  she  leaned  forward. 

"Lennie,"  she  said. 

He  turned  with  a  start. 

"Soon  we  will  be  with  Dougal  and  then  at  the 
ranch  with  the  many.  I  just  wanted  to  say — I 
mean  I  wish  it  possible  to  say — the  thanks  for 
all.  I  think  to  it  more  and  more.  There  is  no 
forgetting." 

"There  is  no  forgettin'  for  me  either,"  he  said 
without  looking  at  her,  "and  you  have  nothin'  to 
thank  me  for;  but  I  must  thank  God  all  my  life 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

for  lettin'  me  do  even  this  little  for  you."  He 
rose  abruptly.  "Are  you  rested?  We'll  keep 
in  the  shadow  of  this  butte  and  then  make  for 
that  black  canon  over  there." 

She  assented,  and  the  silent  journey  continued. 
At  dawn  they  sighted  the  Springs  and  a  thread 
of  smoke  curling  upward  from  some  trees. 
Dougal  was  bending  over  the  camp  fire  and  did 
not  see  them  until  they  were  almost  upon  him. 

"Bless  me,  it's  tha  bairnie,"  he  said,  as  the 
weary  child  came  slowly  through  the  trees.  "Hoo 
are  ye,  lad?  This  does  my  auld  eyes  more  gude 
than  a  glimpse  o'  tha  Hielands.  Wi'  out  horses. 
Ye  maun  be  weary.  Shall  we  bide  a  bit?  I've 
been  here  these  three  days  an'  a  sittin'  on  peens 
an'  needles,  not  darin'  to  stir  and  yet  knowin'  that 
ye  had  need  o'  me  an'  tha  beasts  somewhere. 
Ye'U  just  have  a  bite  and  then  tell  me  all  aboot 
it." 

Naya  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  held  her  hands 
to  the  blaze.  The  cheery  voice  and  kind  face 
were  so  familiar  and  yet  so  unfamiliar.  It  was 
like  a  dream.  Some  way  life  was  not  the  same 
as  yesterday. 

"It  broke  me  all  up  to  leave  old  Rajah,"  Len 

a85 


NAYA 

was  saying,  as  he  helped  Dougal  with  the  break- 
fast. 

Naya  looked  at  him  with  something  of  be- 
wilderment in  her  sweet  dark  eyes,  then  she 
turned  away.  She  would  stay  only  long  enough 
to  drink  some  coffee,  saying  the  ride  would  rest 
her,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  started. 

That  night  was  spent  in  the  shack  of  a  lonely 
ranchman,  where  everything  was  done  for  her 
that  crude  but  generous  hospitality  could  devise, 
and  the  following  evening  they  arrived  home. 

Naya  slipped  from  Pehta's  back  and  ran  to- 
ward the  house.  She  opened  the  door  softly  and 
looked  in.  William  lay  on  a  couch  by  the  river 
window,  his  injured  foot  on  a  pillow.  A  book 
was  in  his  hand,  but  he  had  closed  it  and  was 
gazing  out  on  the  muddy,  swirling  waters  of  the 
Powder,  his  brow  drawn  as  in  pain.  He  heard 
a  slight  noise  and  turned.  Then  he  gave  a  glad 
cry,  and  in  another  moment  they  were  laughing 
and  crying  in  each  other's  arms. 


286 


CHAPTER  XV 

Here  is  a  promise  of  summers  to  be. 
Wm.  Ernest  Uesley— Rhymes  and  Rhythms. 

It  had  grown  very  hot,  and  although  only  the 
last  week  of  June,  the  flowers  were  dying  and 
the  shriveled  stalks  of  the  soap  plant  rattled 
huskily  in  the  scorching  wind.  Out  on  the  plain 
the  scarlet  mallow  and  lilies  drooped  and  with- 
ered, while  the  rattlesnakes  crept  and  coiled 
among  them  in  sluggish  content. 

Old  Tom  hung  over  his  garden  like  a  mother 
over  a  sick  child.  He  was  the  pioneer,  the  old 
timer  whose  advent  to  the  Powder  River  country 
was  antediluvian,  and  whose  opinion  on  matters 
of  climate  was  absolutely  oracular. 

"I  come  to  these  here  parts  when  the  Big- 
horns was  jest  a  sprouting"  he  said  to  Arthur, 
who  was  helping  him  in  the  garden,  "and  I'll 
be  everlastingly  kerfloppered  if  I  ever  see  such 
weather  as  this  here." 

The  old  man  leaned  on  his  hoe  and  mopped 
his  face  with  his  great  bandana. 

287 


NAYA 

^The  lettuce  is  lookin'  purty  turrible  bad," 
he  continued  presently,  as  he  bent  over  the  yel- 
lowing leaves,  "but  I  reckon  it  don't  much  mat- 
ter.   When  did  you  say  the  folks  is  a  goin'?" 

"Day  after  to-morrow,"  answered  Arthur, 
hoeing  so  savagely  that  the  air  was  full,  not  only 
of  dirt  and  weeds,  but  of  turnip  tops  as  well. 
She  hated  turnips,  and  he  felt  like  slashing  them 
all  into  slivers. 

"Day  arter  to-morry!"  sighed  Old  Tom. 
"These  here  diggings  'uU  be  purty  tame  without 
the  leetle  gal  a  orderin'  us  around  and  spoilin' 
us  all  in  a  minute.  That  there  long-haired  dog 
o*  hern  was  a  chasin'  my  young  pullets  one  day, 
and  I  jest  let  fly  a  handful  o'  clods  at  the  varlet. 
She  seen  me  from  the  tree  yender,  and  she  was 
madder'n  a  hatter.  *Tom!'  she  sez,  a  runnin' 
to'ard  me,  *If  you  do  that  again,  I'll  kill  you!  I 
will,  you  horrid  old  manP  "  Old  Tom  chuckled 
softly.  "In  ten  minutes  she  was  out  thar  with  a 
handful  o'  fried  cakes  and  a  cup  o'  root  beer 
and  a  coaxin'  and  a  pettin'  me  like  a  kitten. 
Thar's  somethin'  awful  queer  and  fetchin'  about 
'er  fer  all  her  tantrum  ways.  And  now  she'll  be 
hittin'  fer  the  Old  Country!  Hum!  Hum!  That 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

'sam  singin'  cuss  in  the  Bible  is  purty  kerrect 
when  he  rants  about  the  trials  and  tribulations 
o'  life." 

Arthur  could  not  help  smiling  a  little,  al- 
though he  was  fearfully  "down  in  the  mouth," 
as  he  would  have  expressed  it.  He  had  always 
planned  that  some  day  he  would  show  her  the 
Westmorland  hills  (he  did  not  call  them  moun- 
tains since  he  had  come  to  America),  the  cave 
down  by  the  sea,  the  little  trout  pond,  the  slope 
where  the  spring  daffodils  were  thickest;  and 
now  she  was  going  to  dear  little  Clifdale  with- 
out him,  and  he  was  to  stay  here  in  this  barren, 
horrible  place  and  hoe  the  beastly  garden,  and 
ride  after  the  beastly  cattle,  and  roast  to  death 
in  this  beastly  heat.  It  was  homesickness  of  the 
worst  type.  A  girl  would  have  wept  and  wailed 
herself  into  a  more  comfortable  mood,  but  being 
a  great  boy,  tears  had  been  banished  from  his 
repertory,  so  his  longing  for  England  and  his 
sorrow  over  Naya's  departure  gnawed  and  raged 
until  life  took  on  a  very  tragic  aspect,  indeed 

"Ar-rthurl" 

There  was  Dougal  leaning  on  the  fence.    The 
boy  dropped  his  hoe  and  hastened  toward  him 


NAYA 

in  relief,  for  a  great  sympathy  had  sprung  up 
between  him  and  the  Scotch  foreman. 

"Tm  off  to  tha  foothills  ranch  for  a  week  or  so, 
an'  IVe  just  said  my  goodie-by  to  tha  bairnie. 
You  an'  Len  weel  take  tha  fouks  tae  toon." 

His  eyes  looked  suspicious,  Arthur  thought, 
but  the  manner  was  as  cheery  as  ever. 

"Hoot  on  ye,  mannie,  didna  be  cast  doon,"  he 
continued,  noting  the  boy's  woe-be-gone  counte- 
nance, "Uncle  Weelum  '11  be  back  in  a  few 
months  an'  tha  lass  too,  some  day.  I've  been  a 
talkin'  matters  ower  wi'  him  all  tha  mornin',  an' 
ye're  to  go  on  the  range  wi'  Len  this  summer  an' 
fall.    Ye'll  be  in  fine  speerited  company." 

They  were  walking  toward  the  stables  now, 
and  at  these  words  Arthur's  expression  became 
less  doleful. 

"With  Len?  Jiminy,  that's  greati  He's  a 
dandy,  all  right." 

"Yes,  Len's  shure  a  dandy,"  answered  the  big 
Scotchman,  "if  that  means  somethin'  reech  an' 
sterlin'  under  the  wildness  o'  one  an'  twenty, 
but  he's  been  pretty  steady  these  last  twelve 
months,  an'  wark!  Gudeness!  He's  terrifyin'. 
He  wud  hae  started  for  the  range  tha  very  next 

2Q0 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

day  after  we  came  f rae  tha  north  wi'  tha  bairnie, 
only  yir  uncle  wud  nae  let  him.  Poor  lad!  He 
looked  as  if  he  had  nae  slept  for  a  fortnight." 

'^And  then  he  knows  such  a  lot — not  stuff  like 
I  used  to  chuck  at  school  in  England — but  about 
things  that  are  all  around  us.  Yesterday  he  was 
telling  me  about  the  rattlesnakes.  If  anything 
scares  the  young  ones,  you  know,  why  the  mother 
just  gulps  them  down  as  if  they  were  her  break- 
fast— just  think,  the  whole  mess  of  nasty  little 
wriggling  things,  and  when  the  danger  is  over, 
why,  she  just  coughs  them  up  again,  and  there 
you  are.'' 

"Shure,  he's  observin',  is  the  lad,"  said  the 
Scotchman,  smiling  at  the  other's  enthusiasm, 
"an'  wha's  more,  his  intelligence  is  awakin'  an' 
a  growin'  in  a  way  that's  surprisin'.  Tha  ither 
nicht  I  happened  to  tha  bunk  house  an'  he  sat  on 
his  bed  a'  tellin'  the  boys  all  aboot  bees — honey 
bees.  Mrs.  Hartwell  had  some,  and  he  had  ob- 
served 'em.  He  made  it  that  interestin'  that  it 
was  like  a  fairy  tale,  an'  tha  boys  were  a  huddlin' 
aroond  him  like  a  lot  o'  bairns.  Weel,  goodie- 
by,  lad.  Take  care  o'  yirsel'  I'll  sec  ye  an' 
Len  on  tha  lower  range  next  week." 


NAYA 

Arthur  watched  him  out  of  sight  and  then 
went  back  to  Old  Tom  and  his  hoe.  Dougal 
always  made  things  seem  worth  while,  somehow. 
He  felt  decidedly  less  hopeless  and  began  to  dig 
ground  with  energy.  He'd  "wark"  and  be  "ter- 
rifyin'  "  too,  and  in  a  year  or  two  heM  have 
money  enough  to  go  to  Clifdale  on  a  visit,  just 
to  see  her  and  the  folks ;  but  not  to  stay,  you  bet. 
Dear  old  Len!    What  fun  theyM  have  I 

For  Naya  was  really  going  to  England.  There 
had  been  a  struggle,  a  struggle  William  did  not 
like  to  think  about,  and  now  that  she  had  yielded, 
she  went  about  the  house  with  a  still,  sad  look 
that  made  his  heart  ache.  At  first  she  had 
pleaded  softly  and  confidently,  feeling  sure  that 
she  could  overcome  the  grave  English  father,  as 
she  had  done  so  many,  many  times  before;  but 
he  had  remained  firm,  and  then  and  there  had 
been  tears,  bitter  tears,  bitter,  passionate  tears  of 
pleading,  and  anger  and  denunciation  of  Eng- 
land, and  everything  pertaining  thereto,  ending 
in  a  mood  of  quiet  steel-like  obstinacy. 

"I  go  not,"  she  had  announced  with  an  air  of 
292 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

absolute  finality.  "England  is  little  and  stiff  and 
horrid.    I  stay  in  the  beautiful  Wyoming." 

After  this  defiance  William  made  no  further 
efforts  at  persuading  her,  but  limped  silently 
about  the  house  and  porch  on  the  crutch  the 
doctor  had  provided  for  him,  his  face  and  man- 
ner bearing  eloquent  testimony  of  the  pain  she 
had  given  him.  When  the  second  night  came, 
she  could  hold  out  no  longer.  She  crept  into 
his  room  in  her  long  white  nightdress  and,  kneel- 
ing by  the  bed,  caught  his  hand  passionately. 

"You  shall  not  ever  look  to  me  so  again.  You 
shall  not!  You  shall  not!  As  if  I  was  not  longer 
your  child.  Say  I  am  your  child.  Say  it!  I 
will  go,  father,  only  say  it!"  There  was  both 
terror  and  command  in  the  sobbing  voice.  He 
had  seemed  to  look  at  her  across  a  measureless 
gulf  of  surprise  and  pain  and  indecision,  as  if 
he  wondered  if  she  were  his  child  after  all. 

Yes,  it  had  been  a  painful  struggle.  After 
Dougal's  "Goodie-by,"  she  stood  looking  out 
on  the  blufifs  across  the  river,  and  William  lay  on 
the  couch,  trying  not  to  think  about  his  unhappy 
triumph  of  the  night  before.  They  could  easily 
get  ready  in  two  days,  and  he  thought  it  better  to 

393 


NAYA 

have  it  over  with  as  soon  as  possible.  Hannah 
was  in  Naya's  room  now,  selecting  and  packing 
the  child's  things.  It  was  a  relief  to  have  her 
here  again;  she  was  so  quiet  and  practical  and 
capable  in  every  way,  and  it  had  been  an  ex- 
cellent decision, — that  of  taking  her.  Poor 
broken,  lonely  life,  how  cruel  to  have  taken 
Naya  from  her;  and  then,  besides,  the  child  was 
deeply  attached  to  her,  and  it  made  the  going 
less  hard.  She  passed  through  the  sitting  room 
and  the  happy  energy  in  her  step  and  voice  pro- 
claimed that  at  least  one  person  on  the  ranch 
was  not  moping  over  the  sudden  turn  of  events. 
She  would  facilitate  matters  in  the  traveling,  too. 
William  glanced  up  at  Naya  and  thought  it 
better  not  to  disturb  her.  Dear  sad  little  thing, 
she  had  never  even  been  on  a  train.  Would  she 
be  interested,  or  would  she  be  merely  repelled 
and  mourn  afresh  for  the  beauties  she  was  leav- 
ing? It  seemed  a  harsh  thing  to  do,  to  tear  her 
from  the  life  she  adored,  a  life  which  would  give 
her  such  enduring  content.  For  it  would  be 
enduring  if  he  kept  her  from  the  fever  and  un- 
rest of  that  other  life.  He  stirred  restlessly.  It 
was  the  old  question  again.    After  all,  the  trouble 

294 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

with  the  Indians  had  had  little  to  do  with  this 
sudden  plan;  it  had  merely  hastened  a  step  that 
was  inevitable.  He  must  show  her  the  world  of 
affairs  and  people  and  art,  and  then  if  she  chose 
this  life,  as  he  had,  he  would  at  least  have  done 
his  duty  as  a  father.  But  she  would  never  come 
back.  Alas!  The  very  intelligence,  so  quick,  so 
fanciful,  that  he  adored  in  her,  would  seize  on 
some  task  out  there  in  the  world  and,  in  the  de- 
light of  her  unfolding  faculties,  in  the  revelation 
of  art  or  love  or  something  or  other,  she  would 
be  gradually  weaned  from  her  wild  ways,  grad- 
ually immeshed  in  the  happiness  or  sorrow  of  a 
new  life.  Then  he  would  be  all  alone!  Well, 
parents  shouldn't  expect  their  children  to  be 
just  like  them,  to  live  exactly  as  they  would  have 
them.  A  life  belongs  to  itself  and  should  follow 
its  own  inner  counseling. 

It  was  extremely  awkward  for  him,  this  going 
away  just  now.  There  were  cattle  thieves  in 
the  country,  and  he  ought  to  be  out  on  the  range 
this  minute;  but  he  was  leaving  the  business  in 
mighty  good  hands.  He  trusted  Dougal  as  him- 
self, and  then  there  was  Len — that  magnificent 
boy!    He  must  do  something  for  him  sometime. 

20  295 


NAYA 

Of  course  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  paying 
him  for  what  he  did  for  Naya  a  week  ago,  he 
was  such  a  proud  young  devil, — the  mere  doing 
was  sufficient  payment  for  such  a  nature,  but 
perhaps  by  and  by,  when  he  returned  for  the  beef 
round-up,  he  would  form  a  company — Dougal, 
Arthur  and  Len.  Yes,  it  would  be  a  good  thing, 
for  he  would  have  to  be  away  most  of  the  time 
now  and — 

"Father,"  said  Naya  suddenly. 

"Come  here,  darling.    What  is  it?" 

She  left  the  window  and  walked  slowly  to- 
ward the  couch.  Then  she  sank  to  a  stool  by  his 
side  and  leaned  her  head  against  him. 

"I — I  wish  to  take  Pehta  anyway,"  she  said 
hesitatingly.  "I  suppose  it  is  not  possible  to  take 
all  the  little  wild  things.  I  wish  to  much,  but 
you  think  there  are  too  many — yes?" 

William  was  deeply  touched  by  the  pathetic 
plea,  but  he  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  sud- 
den vision  of  a  Pullman  sleeper  overrun  with 
horned  toads  and  racoons  and  rabbits,  and  of  af- 
frighted and  indignant  female  passengers  with 
uplifted  skirts  and  voices,  standing  terror-bound 
on  their  seats. 

296 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

*Wot  Pigeon?"  he  asked  in  astonishment. 

He  could  not  see  her  face,  but  he  thought  she 
trembled  ever  so  little. 

"Pehta  is  most  beautiful,"  she  said  faintly, 
"and  I  have  taught  him  the  little  tricks." 

There  v^as  a  rap  on  the  dining  room  door,  and 
in  response  to  William's  cordial  "Come  in,"  it 
opened,  and  Len  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"I  was  just  goin'  after  a  bunch  of  horses  over 
in  the  buttes  across  the  river,  and  I  thought 
maybe  Naya  would  like  the  ride." 

In  spite  of  the  roughness  of  his  dress,  there 
was  a  certain  young  and  fine  distinction  in  the 
cow-puncher's  presence,  and  William  thought 
he  had  rarely  seen  anything  so  vividly  charmful 
as  the  clean-shaven  bronze  of  his  face  and  the 
warm  hazel  of  his  straightforward  eye.  There 
was  something  curiously  expressive  about  his 
countenance,  something  both  reminiscent  and 
prophetic.  At  one  moment  one  saw  a  little  boy 
of  five,  supplementing  his  questions  with  the 
clear  brown  gaze  of  childhood,  and  the  next, 
there  came  a  vision  of  Len  at  sixty,  his  fine  face 
graven  deep  with  the  lines  of  life  and  thought. 

He  was  ready  for  the  ride.     Sombrero  and 


NAYA 

quirt  were  in  his  hand,  and  as  he  entered  with 
the  careless,  picturesque  grace  so  characteristic 
of  him,  there  was  a  creak  of  leathern  "shaps" 
and  a  jingle  of  steel  spurs  that  were  like  a  battle 
cry  to  Naya.  She  involuntarily  clutched  her 
father's  arm,  and  William  looked  curiously  at 
the  flushed,  eager  face  she  turned  toward  the 
handsome  young  cow-puncher.  Evidently  she 
forgot  all  about  England,  for  the  next  instant 
she  had  sprung  to  her  feet  with  the  rough  but 
musical  little  Indian  cry  which  her  dogs  and 
ponies  doubtless  heard  in  their  dreams,  and 
went  dancing  about  the  room  in  a  perfect  gale 
of  delight.  The  two  men  laughed,  then  stopped 
abruptly,  "^ach  assailed  by  his  own  sad  thoughts. 
Their  eyes  met.  The  gaze  of  the  older  man  was 
searching  and  a  little  stern,  but  the  younger  re- 
turned it  without  flinching.  ''You  know  I  won't 
speak,"  the  brown  eyes  said  proudly.  "You 
know  I  trust  you,"  the  gray  ones  answered, 
softening. 

"Go,  darling,  if  you  wish,"  William  said  to 
Naya,  "but  why  not  wait  until  after  dinner?  It 
is  almost  noon  now." 

"See  Yup  will  give  me  the  little  sandwiches. 

398 


She  looked  down  upon  the  home  she  was  to  leave  so  soon. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

We  adore  the  picnic,  do  we  not,  Len?''  And  she 
danced  toward  the  door  all  impatience  to  be 
gone. 

It  was  their  first  ride  together,  in  fact  the  first 
time  they  had  been  alone  since  the  night  of  their 
escape  from  the  Indians.  Few  people  are  capa- 
ble of  realizing  an  impending  separation  from 
some  beloved  person  or  thing,  but  despite  his 
courageous  and  hopeful  spirit,  Len  was  already 
living  with  sharp  and  miserable  intensity  the 
parting  that  would  be  over  ere  the  setting  of 
three  suns,  and  the  years  of  loneliness  that  must 
follow.  He  was  determined  not  to  mar  her  ride 
— probably  the  last — with  his  unhappiness,  but 
from  occasional  cheerful  remarks  he  gradually 
lapsed  into  the  silence  that  of  late  had  become 
habitual  with  him.  They  had  splashed  across 
the  river  and  were  climbing  the  bluffs  when  she 
stopped  her  horse  and  turned  to  look.  The  rush 
of  gayety  had  subsided,  and  she  was  now  as  silent 
as  he.  He  reined  Comet  a  little  to  the  rear  and 
sat  watching  her  while,  with  one  hand  shading 
her  eyes,  she  looked  down  upon  the  home  she 
was  to  leave  so  soon. 

It  lay  beneath  them  like  a  patchwork  quilt 

299 


NAYA 

mellowed  by  time  and  sun  to  shades  of  softest 
brown  and  gray  and  green.  There  it  was,  the 
old  log  house  on  the  winding  river,  and  the  Cot- 
tonwood grove  and  the  corrals,  and  the  cornfield. 
The  day  was  hot  and  still,  and  they  neither 
moved  nor  spoke.  Len  thought  he  had  never 
seen  her  look  so  Indian — so  in  harmony  with  her 
surroundings. 

As  if  realizing  the  deprivations  of  the  future, 
she  had  adorned  herself  in  the  barbaric  splendor 
which,  to  the  red  race  of  the  wilderness,  is  as  pre- 
cious as  breath  itself.  Gradually,  through  Han- 
nah's tactful  endeavors,  she  had  been  persuaded 
to  more  civilized  attire,  but  this  morning  there 
was  no  sign  of  that  good  woman's  influence.  Her 
moccasins  and  tunic  of  doeskin  were  richly  em- 
broidered with  beads  and  feathers,  and  a  cluster 
of  white  plumage  drooped  over  the  purple-black 
hair,  now  glinting  with  the  fires  of  the  noonday 
sun.  She  sat  immovable — a  statue,  strangely 
significant  and  strangely  fitting;  an  Indian 
maiden  mourning  over  the  lost  realms  of  her 
people. 

The  glow  in  Len's  eyes  deepened  and  deep- 

300 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

ened.  Oh,  to  touch,  to  touch — that  is  the  never 
ceasing  cry  of  love. 

Her  hand  dropped,  and  without  a  word  she 
reined  Pehta  on  up  the  hill.  The  young  cow- 
puncher  followed  in  a  sudden  spasm  of  misery 
and  anger.  Why  tear  the  child  from  the  very 
life  she  was  born  to?  If  he  could  only  catch  the 
wild  little  thing  in  his  great  strong  arms  and 
hold  her  forever  and  ever!  Why,  her  own 
mother  was  but  a  year  older  when  Dunsmuir 
married  her.  But  that  was  different,  he  would 
say,  after  the  fashion  of  all  parents.  Of  course 
she  was  only  a  little  girl,  he  knew  that  well 
enough — he   wouldn't   hasten   matters    for   the 

world — but  what  a  d shame  to  take  her 

away  from  here,  to  fill  her  head  full  of  the  tricks 
and  nonsense  of  that  artificial  thing  called  civili- 
zation— progress,  and  spoil  this  beautiful  work 
of  nature.  Yet  in  spite  of  her  child  ways  she  had 
a  comprehension  far  beyond  her  years.  He  re- 
called an  evening  a  couple  of  months  previous 
when  her  father  had  been  reading  aloud  to  them 
from  "The  Last  of  the  Mohicans" — that  final 
beautiful  chapter  w^herein  the  Delaware  maid- 
ens chant  their  exquisite  and  mournful  eulogy 

301 


NAYA 

to  the  dead  warrior  Uncas  and  the  lovely  Eng- 
lish Cora,  for  whom  he  has  vainly  given  his  life. 
Len  had  borrowed  the  book  afterwards  and  had 
read  and  thought  about  the  passage  that  had  so 
touched  Naya,  until  he  knew  it  almost  by  heart. 
"She  called  him  'the  panther  of  his  tribe ;'  and 
described  him  as  one  whose  moccasin  left  no 
trail  on  the  dews ;  whose  bound  was  like  the  leap 
of  the  young  fawn ;  whose  eye  was  brighter  than  a 
star  in  the  dark  night;  and  whose  voice,  in  battle, 
was  loud  as  the  thunder  of  Manitou.  .  .  .  They 
exhorted  her  to  be  of  cheerful  mind,  and  to  fear 
nothing  for  her  future  welfare.  ...  a 
warrior  was  at  her  side  who  was  able  to  protect 
her  against  every  danger.  They  promised  that 
her  path  should  be  pleasant,  and  her  burden  light. 
They  cautioned  her  against  unavailing  regrets 
for  the  friends  of  her  youth,  and  the  scenes  where 
her  fathers  had  dwelt;  assuring  her  that  the 
^blessed  hunting  grounds  of  the  Lenape'  con- 
tained vales  as  pleasant,  streams  as  pure  and 
flowers  as  sweet  as,  'the  heaven  of  the  pale  faces.' 
.  .  .  Then,  in  a  wild  burst  of  their  chant,  they 
sang  with  united  voices  the  temper  of  the  Mo- 
hican's  mind.     They    pronounced   him   noble, 

302 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

manly  and  generous ;  all  that  became  a  warrior, 
and  all  that  a  maid  might  love." 

Here  Naya  had  broken  down,  and  putting 
her  head  on  the  table,  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  were 
breaking.  "Stop,  father,  stop!  I  cannot  bear  it. 
He  did  love  the  beautiful  lady  and  she  did  love 
him.  I  knew  it  the  whole  time,  and  they  never 
said  it  to  each  other — never — never." 

The  tears  started  to  Len's  eyes.  Never!  Never! 
What  a  terrible  word!  And  she  understands 
what  it  is  to  love — she  understands. 

"Naya,"  he  said,  but  the  word  died  on  his  lips. 

Naya  turned. 

"Did  you  speak?"  she  asked;  then  she  saw  his 
tears  and  her  lips  trembled.  "What  is  it,  Len- 
nie?" 

"I  was  only  thinkin',"  he  said,  recapturing  him- 
self with  an  effort,  "how  we'll  all  miss  you  when 
you're  in  the  Old  Country.  My,  what  a  string  of 
mourners  you'll  have!  I  guess  Old  Tom'll  head 
the  procession.  He  says  you  threatened  to  kill 
him  once,  and  he  brags  of  it  night  and  day  as  an 
honor  you  haven't  bestowed  on  us  other  poor 
fellows." 

They  both  laughed,  but  not  very  happily. 

303 


NAYA 

"Talkin'  helps,"  thought  Len,  "an'  Fll  just 
keep  a  goin'." 

"When  you  write  to  us  you  must  take  turns 
addressing  the  letters,  or  else  there'll  be  a  terrible 
row.  *Ze  leetle  Pico,'  for  instance.  If  his  knife 
wasn't  right  handy  he'd  brain  the  lucky  one  with 
his  stringbox,  and  See  Yup!  Gracious,  don't 
slight  him!  There'd  be  nothin'  left  within  a 
hundred  miles  except  him  and  the  butcher 
knife." 

He  was  outwardly  quite  himself  now,  but  the 
effort  of  self-repression  had  left  him  shaken  and 
terrified  at  the  force  of  his  love.  She  did  not  re- 
spond to  his  nonsense,  and  evidently  it  had  not 
been  cheering,  for,  when  he  stole  a  look  at  her, 
the  wistful  sadness  in  her  face  smote  his  heart. 

"Of  course  I  will  write,"  she  said  at  length, 
and  then  timidly,  "Will  you  make  answer?" 

"My,  but  you've  got  courage,"  he  replied. 
"You  ought  to  see  my  writin'.  It's  nothin'  but 
orphan  asylum,  cow-puncher  scratchin'." 

"Goodie!"  she  said,  softly  beating  her  palm 
on  the  horn  of  the  saddle  with  a  little  touch  of 
her  usual  laughing  spirits.  "I  write  most  awful 
too.    Just  awful,  Len.    I  love  the  reading,  but 

304 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

what  is  the  use  to  spend  hours  and  hours  on  the 
crooked  little  marks.  We  should  use  the  time  to 
make  each  other  happy.  Just  be  simple  and 
good  and  wait  for  the  Great  Spirit."  Her  face 
had  grown  thoughtful  again.  "Do  you  believe 
in  the  Christ?"  she  added  abruptly. 

He  gasped  a  little.  She  was  evidently  after 
his  religious  opinions  and,  as  they  were  not  par- 
ticularly well  assorted,  he  was  somewhat  stag- 
gered. He  was  far  from  being  irreligious,  but 
the  few  missionaries  whom  it  had  been  his  mis- 
fortune to  encounter  on  this  distant  border  of 
civilization  had  been,  for  the  most  part,  canting, 
dogmatical  machines,  who  had  only  served  to 
alienate  him  even  farther  from  the  creeds  and 
formulas  they  upheld.  But  he  knew  and  loved 
the  story  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows. 

"Believe  that  he  was  a  good  man?"  he  asked 
in  return. 

"Not  only  that,  but  the  son  of  the  Great 
Spirit,"  she  continued  musingly,  "that  he  could 
make  the  water  red  like  the  berry  of  the  kinni- 
kinic,  and  if  the  sea  waves  were  as  high  as  Cloud 
Peak,  he  could  make  them  smooth  again  as  the 

305 


NAYA 

prairie.    Hannah  believes  it.    It  is  the  religion 
of  the  white  man.     Do  you  believe  it,  Len?" 

How  to  answer  the  strange  child?  Len  pon- 
dered. 

"He  was  a  mighty  good  man,"  he  said  finally, 
"and  the  rest  of  us  fellows  is  meaner'n  dirt  be- 
side him;  and  he  was  everlastingly  smart,  too, 
which  some  way  people  kind  o'  overlook;  but 
the  best  part  of  it  is,  he  makes  a  man  feel  that 
hopeful  and  self-respectin',  as  if  we're  just  as 
good  as  him  at  bottom,  and  if  we  only  would, 
could  be  just  as  brave  and  fine  and  everything. 
It  sounds  awful  mixed  up,  but  I  think  that's 
about  it;  we  arc  and  could  be  just  as  good  as  him  | 
if  we  only  would." 

"Yes,  that  is  it,"  she  assented,  and  then  her 
voice  sank  to  a  note  so  deeply  significant  that 
Len's  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  "You  know 
last  winter  that  man  from  Poison  Spider  Creek. 
I  have  told  not  even  father,  only  you.  He  said 
the  things  to  me  that  were  not  nice.  You  never 
have,  Len,  you  never  have,  and  I  have  been  so 
much  with  you,  and  you  are  so  brave  and  kind 
and  everything — just  as  the  Christ." 

For  one  solemn  moment  his  eyes  sought  hers, 
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A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

then  they  slowly  closed  before  the  adoration  he 
read  there. 

"Don't,"  he  said  almost  inaudibly,  "don't." 

There  was  something  so  unutterably  beautiful 
and  childlike  in  her  confession  that  he  could  not 
bear  it.  Comet  leaped  under  the  sudden  touch 
of  spur  and  dashed  down  the  hill,  leaving  Pehta 
and  his  rider  far  in  the  rear.  Len  knew  he  must 
be  alone  in  this  new  fight  for  self-mastery.  At 
the  end  of  a  few  minutes  he  rode  back  to  her. 
His  brown  face  was  a  little  pale,  but  he  smiled 
at  her  steadily  and  spoke  as  if  nothing  unusual 
had  happened.  It  was  the  bravest  act  of  his 
brave  life. 

"We'll  have  our  lunch  over  in  that  draw. 
There's  a  little  spring  there  and  some  rocks  for 
shade.    I  don't  see  the  horses,  do  you?" 

She  too  was  pale,  and  she  scarcely  looked  at 
him.  Arching  her  eyes  with  one  hand,  she  care- 
fully scrutinized  the  rolling  brown  hills,  but  her 
expression  was  that  of  one  who  has  to  do  with 
deep,  inner  thoughts  rather  than  any  outward 
objects. 

"I  not  see  them,"  she  said,  and  they  spoke  no 
more  until  they  reached  the  spring. 

307 


NAYA 

It  was  all  Len  could  do  to  steady  himself. 
The  sweet  and  unexpected  revelation  had  so 
dazzled  and  confused  him  that  a  dozen  times  he 
was  on  the  point  of  seizing  those  little  brown 
hands  and  telling  her  all — all;  but  there  was 
always  the  quick  restraining  remembrance  of  her 
youth,  of  his  trust,  and  the  plan  he  had  imposed 
upon  himself,  the  only  plan  that  seemed  to  him 
honorable  and  fair.  The  effort  for  self-control 
was  so  great  that  unconsciously  his  manner  be- 
came matter  of  fact  to  the  point  of  coldness. 

She  sat  just  above  him  on  one  of  the  rocks 
that  surrounded  the  spring.  There  was  some- 
thing distant  and  proud  in  her  attitude,  but  the 
dark,  slumbrous  eyes  were  full  of  a  shrinking 
pain  that  smote  him  afresh.  This  was  different. 
Dear  child!  In  the  artlessness  of  her  youth,  she 
had  revealed  the  hidden  places  of  her  heart,  and 
thought  that  he  did  not  care.  Len  leaned  back 
against  the  hill  and  thought  a  moment  before 
speaking. 

"Fm  goin'  to  tell  you  a  little  story,"  he  began. 

"But  I  am  not  longer  a  little  child,"  she  in- 
terrupted. 

A  great  tenderness  crept  into  his  eyes. 

308 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"I  know,"  he  said  in  the  gentlest  voice  she  ha3 
ever  heard,  "but  this  is  a  mighty  good  story  for 
real  growed-ups,  too,  even  if  it  is  about  a  little 
boy.  You  see  he  was  pretty  bad  in  lots  of  ways; 
he  hadn't  been  learnt  very  well,  and  he  hadn't 
been  much  to  school,  and  his  father  and  mother 
was  both  dead,  so  he  kind  o'  drifted  into  doin' 
things  that  he  ought  to  have  fought  shy  of.  But 
he  wasn't  all  bad.  I  guess  the  Almighty  kept  His 
eye  on  him  after  all,  for  one  day  he  saw  a  flower 
garden,  and  his  heart  was  awful  touched.  It  was 
in  the  spring,  and  the  roses  was  just  buddin'  and 
the  lilies,  white  as  that  speck  o'  cloud  up  there, 
was  just  beginnin'  to  unfold,  and  there  was  little 
sweet  smellin'  violets  that  one  couldn't  see  at  all, 
but  the  boy  knowed  they  was  there,  and  they 
seemed  to  promise  somethin'  that  only  made  his 
longin'  worse. 

"How  the  little  boy  did  want  that  garden !  He 
knowed  he  didn't  deserve  it,  for,  as  I  said  be- 
fore, he  hadn't  been  very  good,  but  he  felt  as  if 
all  his  badness  would  just  hit  the  trail  forever 
if  he  could  just  have  all  them  sweet  spring  buds 
for  his  very,  very  own.  Then  something  spoke 
to  him.   It  was  an  awful  little  voice  and  still  it 

309 


NAYA 

was  the  most  powerful  thing  the  boy  had  ever 
heard.  Tou  must  wait  till  it's  summer,'  it  said, 
^that'll  give  you  time  to  work  and  be  more  de- 
serving and  then  the  little  buds'll  all  be  lovely 
flowers,  and  perhaps  you  can  have  'em.' 

"The  boy  was  awful  sad ;  it  was  a  long  time  till 
summer,  and  he  saw  he  was  goin'  to  be  awful 
lonesome;  but  he  was  terrible  brave — I'll  say  that 
for  him — and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  work  like 
the  very  old  Harry  and  try  hard  to  be  deservin', 
and  then  maybe  the  beautiful  flower  garden 
would  be  his  after  all.  That's  not  the  end  of  the 
story,  but  that's  all  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  now." 

Len  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  still  against  the 
hillside.  He  had  not  the  courage  to  look  at  her 
just  then.  There  was  a  long  silence;  then  she 
said  tremulously, 

"It  is  a  beautiful  story,  Lennie,  but — ^but  per- 
haps the  garden  is  not  so  lovely  as  the  boy 
thinks." 

"Yes,"  answered  Len  shortly,  still  keeping 
his  eyes  closed. 

"Perhaps  by  the  summer  time,"  she  half 
breathed,  and  then  she  rose.  "I  thought  I  saw 
some  one  riding  on  that  far  hill." 

310 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

Len  sprang  to  his  feet  to  look,  but  the  rider 
was  out  of  sight.  Her  maidenly  reserve  and  self- 
control  filled  his  heart  with  pride.  He  had 
risked  much  in  giving  her  even  the  vague  com- 
fort of  the  flower  story,  and  notwithstanding  her 
youth  and  impetuous  temperament,  she  had 
understood  and  helped  him  in  his  duty. 


21 

3" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Yet  a  little  sleep,  a  little  slumber,  a  little  folding  of  the  hands 
to  sleep.  Proverbs,  \i:io. 

They  mounted  and  rode  on  through  the  hills 
whose  great  parched  shoulders  swam  dizzily  in 
the  midday  sun.  But  the  enchanted  fountain 
had  again  touched  them  with  its  spray,  suffusing 
them  with  a  soft  happiness  that  was  unmindful 
of  everything  except  its  own  magic  beauty.  Once 
he  caught  the  sparkle  of  her  glance,  and  the  joy 
and  thrill  of  it  made  him  think  of  his  own  little 
story.  It  was  like  spring  trembling  on  the  verge 
of  summer.  And  once  he  smiled  into  her  eyes 
with  an  expression  so  grave  and  restraining,  and 
yet  so  beautiful  in  its  love,  that  the  memory  of  it 
stayed  with  Naya  as  long  as  she  lived.  Other- 
wise the  succeeding  hours  were  passed  in  the 
impersonal  fashion  that  had  always  character- 
ized their  former  rides.  They  ranged  haphaz- 
ard across  the  hills,  scanning  the  horizon  and  ex- 
amining every  pocket  and  draw,  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  the  straying  horses.     As  they  were 

312 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

traversing  a  deep  rocky  gulch,  Len  dismounted 
to  extract  a  pebble  from  Comet's  foot. 

"I  found  some  mighty  pretty  moss  agates  right 
around  here  one  day,"  he  said,  digging  at  the 
clogged  hoof  with  his  pocket  knife.  "They 
were  clear  as  crystal  and  full  of  little  black  ferny 
things." 

Naya,  who  sat  on  Pehta  watching  him, 
searched  the  ground  with  eager  eyes.  She  was 
about  to  speak  when — ping — a  bullet  just 
grazed  Len's  shoulder.  The  horses  snorted 
and,  wheeling,  plunged  up  the  steep  hillside. 

"Quick,  Naya,  over  the  hill,"  said  Len,  mak- 
ing a  dash  at  Comet  and  landing  in  the  saddle 
with  one  agile  leap. 

Two — three  more  bullets  plowed  the  earth 
around  them.  The  terrified  horses,  finding  the 
ascent  too  steep,  tore  diagonally  toward  the 
crest  of  the  hill.  Len  forced  Comet  to  crowd 
in  the  rear,  hoping  to  shield  Naya,  but  his  eyes 
never  left  a  group  of  boulders  on  the  far  side  of 
the  gulch.  His  pistol  was  at  the  ready,  but  he 
was  waiting.  Something  touched  his  side;  it 
was  like  a  drop  of  scalding  water.    He  only  sat 

313 


NAYA 

the  straightcr;  then  a  sudden  gleam  of  recogni- 
tion shot  across  his  face  and  he  fired. 

"I  got  you  that  time,  you  sneakin'  whelp,"  he 
muttered. 

The  next  instant  they  were  racing  down  the 
other  side  of  the  hill. 

"Why,  who  was  it?"  called  Naya's  voice  above 
the  clatter  of  hoofs. 

Her  eyes  were  wide  more  with  astonishment 
than  fright,  for  it  had  all  happened  so  abruptly 
and  in  less  than  two  minutes — the  hot,  languid 
day  broken  by  a  sudden  wild  tumult  of  pistol 
shots  and  plunging  horses.  She  felt  stunned. 
Len  swayed  a  little  and  grasped  the  saddle  horn. 

"You  are  hurt!"  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  vi- 
brating with  fear. 

The  horses  were  slackening  their  speed  and 
looking  about  wonderingly,  as  if  they  too 
wanted  to  know  something  about  it. 

"Just  a  little  queer  in  my  head,"  he  said.  "I'll 
just  get  you  home  and  come  back." 

He  felt  a  moment's  thankfulness  that  the 
wounded  side  was  turned  from  her;  then  he  con- 
centrated his  whole  attention  on  keeping  his 
brain  steady.    The  hills  danced  and  a  deadly 

314 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

faintness  threatened  him  again  and  again,  only 
to  be  driven  back  under  the  lash  of  his  will.  She 
looked  at  him  in  dread,  at  his  pallor,  at  the  strong 
hands  clinging  so  weakly  to  the  saddle  horn,  but 
she  asked  no  more  questions,  for  she  saw  he  could 
not  answer  them.  In  fact,  she  had  ceased  to 
wonder  about  the  strange  occurrence.  Her 
whole  attention  was  given  to  one  thought;  if  she 
could  only  get  him  homel  They  had  gone  per- 
haps a  mile  when,  without  a  word  or  movement 
of  warning,  he  fell  headlong  to  the  ground. 
Comet,  terrified  afresh  by  this  new  phenomenon, 
shied  against  Pehta  and  then  rushed  on,  snorting 
and  wild-eyed.  In  a  moment  Naya  was  bending 
over  him. 

"Oh I  Oh!"  she  moaned,  as  she  tried  to  move 
him. 

He  had  fallen  on  his  face,  a  limp,  inert  mass, 
and  she  did  not  see  the  blood  until  she  had  finally 
turned  him  on  his  back.  Her  head  swam  at  the 
sight  of  the  warm  crimson  stain,  creeping  and 
spreading  over  the  soft  flannel,  but  she  set  her 
teeth  hard,  and  with  quick  hands  tore  the  shirt 
from  his  side.  There  it  was,  the  great  horrible 
gash!    Plainly  her  handkerchief  was  insufficient. 

315 


NAYA 

She  remembered  her  white  petticoat,  and  slip- 
ping it  off,  bound,  after  a  fashion,  the  poor  bleed- 
ing side.  No,  no,  he  was  not  dead!  She  felt 
again  for  his  heart  beat — faint  yet  distinct  1  But 
there  was  no  water.  Of  course,  that  was  the 
thing  to  make  him  open  his  eyes  and  speak  again. 
She  must  fly  to  the  ranch  on  Pehta  and  have  them 
go  for  the  doctor  and  bring  the  wagon — but 
where  was  he?  She  rose  and  looked  about  in  a 
panic  of  dismay. 

"Pehta!  Pehta!"  she  cried,  but  the  miles 
upon  miles  of  burning  hot  hills  gave  back  no 
answer. 

Len  stirred  and,  opening  his  eyes,  gazed  at  her 
in  dazed  wonder.    Then  he  remembered. 

"Go  home,  instantly,"  he  commanded,  a 
strange  fright  ringing  through  his  voice.  "Per- 
haps I  didn't  get — "    And  then  he  fainted  again. 

Fortunately  he  had  fallen  on  some  soft  turf 
in  the  shade  of  a  bluff.  His  feet  were  still  in 
the  sun,  but  the  kind,  cooling  shadow  was  slowly 
traveling  downward. 

Leave  him  indeed !  It  was  miles  to  the  ranch, 
but  what  should  she  do.  He  must  have  help! 
She  fell  upon  her  knees  beside  him  in  an  agony 

316 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

of  grief  and  indecision.  How  hot  his  forehead! 
Surely  there  was  water  somewhere  about.  She 
took  up  his  hat  and  ran  around  the  bluff  and 
down  into  some  of  the  gullies  that  radiated  from 
its  base.  Dry,  all  dry!  Her  heart  was  burst- 
ing, and  the  sobs  came  so  fast  that  they  almost 
suffocated  her;  but  she  must  not  give  way.  She 
must  only  think,  think  what  to  do.  Then  she 
gave  a  little  cry  of  relief — here  was  water,  only 
a  string  of  brackish  pools,  but  water  just  the 
same.  She  caught  a  hat  full  and  hurried  back. 
Cristecoom!  There  he  was  sitting  up  and  talk- 
ing and  singing.    The  blood  again! 

"Lennie,  Lennie,  lie  again,"  she  pleaded,  and 
forced  him  back  upon  the  ground. 

He  smiled  at  the  touch  of  the  cool  water,  but 
all  the  time  she  was  working  over  him  he  mut- 
tered or  chattered  shrilly  of  such  a  multitude  of 
things  and  with  such  rapid  incoherence  that  she 
caught  only  an  occasional  word  or  phrase.  Now 
it  was  of  the  range  and  some  of  his  comrades, 
now  of  the  ranch,  and  sometimes  he  seemed  to 
imagine  himself  a  little  boy  again  in  the  Massa- 
chusetts Orphan  Asylum.     "Wiggy,  you  d 

little  fool,"  he  said  once  afifectionately,  and  then 

317 


NAYA 

huskily,  "I'll  fix  you,  you  Poison  Spider  sneak." 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  quiet  him.  He  did  not 
seem  to  even  hear  her. 

"Little  laughing  star,  how  tired  she  must  be. 
Not  long — Dougal.  Yes,  the  spring — then  sum- 
mer!   What  did  he  say,  'Never?'  " 

He  thundered  the  last  word  and  sat  bolt  up- 
right with  a  look  of  terrible  defiance  on  his 
flushed  face. 

"I  will  kill  you  if  you  say  'Never'  again  1" 

Naya,  with  the  strength  born  of  terror,  forced 
him  down.  He  seemed  to  fall  into  a  sort  of 
stupor,  and  she  sped  for  another  hat  full  of 
water.  When  she  returned  he  lay  watching  for 
her.  There  was  something  infinitely  remote  and 
sad  in  the  clear  hazel  eyes. 

"You  are  better,"  she  said,  a  soft  tenderness 
overspreading  her  strained  white  face. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  quietly. 

"The  horses  went  on  home,"  she  explained. 
"Soon  they  come  for  us.    I  could  not  leave  you." 

"I'm  glad,"  he  returned.  "It's  awful  selfish 
maybe,  but  I'm  glad  you'll  be  here  at  the  last — 
the  very  last." 

His  broken  words  frightened  her. 

318 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"Lennie,"  she  began,  but  he  interrupted  her 
gravely. 

"  Watchman,  what  of  the  night?'  They're 
such  fools  most  of  them,  but  he  was  a  first-rate 
youngster,  and  I've  never  forgot  them  words  he 
talked  about,  Watchman,  what  of  the  night?' 
That's  what  I'm  askin' — for  the — night — is — 
comin' — fast." 

The  last  words  were  almost  inaudible,  and  the 
clear  eyes  slowly  closed.  Naya  bent  over  him 
in  helpless  anguish. 

"Naya's  tears,"  he  whispered,  rallying  a  lit- 
tle. He  lifted  a  feeble  hand  to  his  wet  cheek. 
"How  sweet — I  may  say  it  now.  I  love — love 
— love  you." 

The  sad  eyes  opened  again  and  their  glow 
deepened — deepened,  drawing  Naya  closer  and 
closer  until  their  lips  touched  and  clung.  Then 
he  gently  pressed  her  head  to  his  breast.  She  lay 
there  without  moving,  whispering  little  broken 
words  of  love  and  comfort  until  the  hands  in  her 
hair  grew  quiet  and  cold.  When  she  disengaged 
herself,  she  realized  that  Len  was  there  no 
longer. 

The  sun  still  lingered  on  the  hill  tops,  but  the 

319 


NAYA 

shadows  were  gathering  in  the  hollows  and  the 
birds  were  already  chanting  their  melancholy 
evensong.  The  Indian  child  sat  motionless  by 
her  dead,  the  great  dark  eyes  staring  and  tragic. 

A  few  hours  later  they  found  them  and  took 
them  home. 

"The  man  from  Poison  Spider  Creek — not  my 
people — not  the  Blackfeet,"  was  what  she  told 
them. 

Two  months  later  the  murderer  was  found. 
His  death  wound  had  left  him  only  strength 
enough  to  slink  into  the  Bad  Lands,  where  he 
had  died,  a  prey  to  the  wolves  and  vultures. 
"Watchman,  what  of  the  night?"  Was  it  the 
same  for  these  two? 

A  rough  bier  covered  with  splendid  robes  was 
arranged  in  the  sitting  room,  and  there  they 
laid  him,  the  brave  dead  boy.  The  expression 
on  his  face  was  rapt,  as  of  one  who  listens.  Was 
it  the  song  of  Naya's  waterfall  that  he  heard? 
She  knew. 

Wiggy  sat  by  his  friend,  weeping  like  a  child. 
Naya  crept  in  softly  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"I  would  put  this." 

320 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

"What  is  it?" 

"Comet's  bridle.    Len  so  loved  him." 

Wiggy  put  his  head  on  the  edge  of  the  bier 
and  sobbed  anew.  With  an  exquisite  tenderness 
Naya  placed  the  bridle  in  the  young  cow-pun- 
cher's cold  hand  and  then  paused  irresolute.  No, 
she  had  had  him  quite  alone  those  many  hours, 
and  now  she  must  leave  him  to  his  friends. 

Wiggy  looked  up  and  was  filled  with  awe 
when  he  saw  the  changed,  grief-stricken  face. 
Where  was  the  brilliant,  laughing  child  of  a 
month  ago? 

The  following  day  they  buried  him  under  a 
cliff  near  the  river. 

"It  faces  to  the  south,"  said  Naya,  who  chose 
the  spot.  "In  the  Moon  of  Winds,  when  all  is 
bare  and  cold,  it  is  like  a  golden  carpet." 

The  following  inscription  was  rudely  chiseled 
on  the  face  of  the  cliff: 

"Watchman,  what  of  the  night?" 
L.  D.    i88— . 

Far  below  the  river  rolled  noiselessly  toward 
the  distant  sea,  and  on  beyond  were  the  bluffs 
and  plains  which  would  ring  no  more  with  his 
gay  laugh  and  gayer  song. 

321 


NAYA 

The  night  before  William  had  injured  his 
ankle  again,  and  was  unable  to  go,  and  most  of 
Len's  friends  were  out  on  the  range  or  at  one 
of  the  other  ranches ;  but  there  were  loving  lit- 
tle Wiggy,  and  Spanish  Pico,  and  Old  Tom,  and 
Arthur,  besides  the  hoard  of  little  Carvers  and 
Hannah,  clinging  tightly  to  Naya's  hand. 

In  the  morning  Arthur  taught  the  boys  a 
fragment  of  an  Episcopal  hymn  he  used  to  sing 
in  the  little  Clifdale  church.  It  seemed  to  him 
there  ought  to  be  some  sort  of  religious  cere- 
mony. 

"Now  the  day  is  over 
Night  is  drawing  nigh; 
Shadows  of  the  evening 
Steal  across  the  sky; 
Jesus,  give  the  weary 
Calm  and  sweet  repose; 
With  Thy  tenderest  blessing 
May  our  eyelids  close." 

That  was  all  he  could  remember,  so  they  were 
to  sing  it  twice,  but  one  by  one  the  voices  choked 
and  ceased,  and  only  Old  Tom's  brave  quaver 
was  left  for  the  last  line. 

When  they  were  lowering  the  rough  wooden 
box,  Arthur  said  anxiously, 

"There  should  be  a  little  prayer.    You,  Mrs. 

Warren." 

322 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

But  Hannah,  too  moved  to  speak,  only  shook 
her  head. 

"Weegy,"  said  Pico. 

Wiggy  looked  blank  for  a  moment,  but  Len 
was  his  friend,  and  without  a  word  he  covered 
his  face  with  both  hands. 

"You  ain't  very  well  knowed  out  here  on  Pow- 
der River,  O  God,  but  we  feel  you  are  some- 
thin'  and  somewheres.  It's  mighty  tough,  this 
here  thing  that's  happened."  Here  he  paused 
and  gulped  hard  for  an  instant,  and  then  con- 
tinued bravely.  "We'll  miss  him  so  terrible. 
You  must  have  knowed  that  he  was  the  best  one 
in  the  gang  and "  but  he  broke  down  com- 
pletely. 

There  was  a  sudden  wild  sob.  Naya  had 
pulled  away  from  Hannah  and  was  running 
down  the  slope  toward  the  river.  She  could  en- 
dure it  no  longer.  The  trees  received  her  and 
she  was  seen  no  more  until  dark. 

"How  terrible  it  has  been  for  you,  darling," 
said  William,  when  she  went  to  bid  him  good 
night. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "Len  is  here  not  longer." 

And  that  is  all  she  ever  said  on  the  subject. 

323 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Life   hath   more  awe   than  death. 

Bailey — Festus. 

Farewell!     A   word  that   must  be, 

and  hath  been — 
A  sound  which  makes  us  linger; 

— ^yet — farewell ! 

Byron — Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage. 

The  dawn  glow  was  fading,  and  the  clouds 
hovering  dreamily  about  the  mountain  peaks 
suddenly  streamed  and  flashed  like  golden  ban- 
ners. Broad  belts  of  sunlight  slanted  across  the 
plain,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  stirrings  and 
songs  that  betoken  the  birth  of  another  day. 

Naya  sat  on  Pehta,  watching.  Two  weeks  had 
passed  since  Len's  death,  and  this  was  the  morn- 
ing of  their  departure.  They  had  already  said 
good-by  at  the  ranch.  The  speck  of  dust  far  in 
advance  was  the  buckboard  bearing  those  who 
were  to  accompany  her  on  the  long  journey  to 
England.  She  had  told  them  she  would  catch 
them,  and  they  had  driven  on  and  left  her. 

324 


A  STORY  OF  THE  BIGHORN  COUNTRY 

There,  winding  among  the  rolling  hills, 
was  The  Road  which  she  too  must  follow  in  a 
few  minutes.  Whither  did  it  lead?  So  it  was 
true,  the  book  talk  about  great  seas  and  great 
cities  and  strange  people  speaking  in  strange 
tongues.  Faces,  indistinct,  yet  significant, 
crowded  about  her  in  confusion.  Did  they  await 
her  in  that  new  life?  She  sat  motionless,  stirred 
by  mystic  visions.  She  seemed  to  be  waving  an 
eternal  farewell  to  some  one  who  stood  on  the 
dim  shore  of  another  existence. 

Suddenly  all  unbidden  there  came  an  over- 
whelming remembrance  of  herself  as  she  had 
been  a  year  ago,  the  day  her  father  came  from 
England,  the  day  she  laughed  at  the  antics  of  the 
prairie  dogs  and  heaped  the  house  with  flowers. 
A  world  yawned  between  her  and  that  Naya. 
Oh,  the  rush  of  happiness  and  the  tragic,  bitter 
ending  of  it  all !  Was  this  the  meaning  of  life — 
the  thing  she  had  read  about?  Was  it  just  a  con- 
fused mingling  of  joy  and  sorrow  and  then — the 
night? 

She  drifted  farther  and  farther  away  on  that 
spirit  sea  where  strange  voices  sing  in  thrilling 
harmony  of  struggles  and  sorrows  and  eternal 

32s 


NAYA 

love,  and  where  a  Divine  Hand  holds  forth  the 
Flaming  Sword  of  Life.  Life!  The  sense  of 
its  beauty  and  its  terror  suddenly  swept  her  like 
a  tempest!  There  was  an  exultant  leap  of  her 
whole  being,  then  it  died  away  and,  with  stream- 
ing eyes,  she  gazed  about  in  a  passion  of  fare- 
well. Beautiful  mother,  more  beautiful  than 
the  dawn  star  when  the  sky  is  like  wild  roses — 
fold  her  close  to  your  great  peaceful  heart,  dear 
mountains,  for  Naya  comes  no  more.  And  he 
who  lies  silent  by  the  winding  river;  he  whose 
gentle  hand  and  brave  spirit  had  led  her  to  the 
portals  of  love  and  joy,  only  to  leave  her  stand- 
ing there  alone.    Alone! 

"Good-by,  Lennie,"  she  whispered  bravely, 
"Good-by." 

Then  she  sought  The  Road  and  journeyed  on. 


2i2^ 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

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